


Tiniest Trace of Hope

by esama



Series: Tiniest Trace [1]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Feels, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Child Abuse, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-09 12:41:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 29,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8891122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esama/pseuds/esama
Summary: Credence picks up the pieces of what he’s done.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> unbetaed

Credence isn't sure how long he sat in the alley, behind the dumpsters, near a pile of something unmentionable that smelled like sin. He feels stiff, every joint aching, every muscle cramping – and yet at the same time it feels like any moment he could fall apart again, just split along the seams of his jacket and float away.

It's always hard to put himself together afterwards, but this time felt the worst. This time he had to actually _draw_ pieces of himself together before he could even attempt a body, and it still feels like bits of him are missing. And maybe they are.

Those Wizards and Witches… they destroyed chunks of him. And he's not going to get them back.

It should probably hurt more. But all he knows is that he is stiff and achy, and he can't feel anything. Everything is shrouded in mist, like he's standing in the middle of a empty, destroyed street, and everything is covered fog. There is Mr. Graves, holding a wand and telling him he smells like Squib. There are wizards, standing in a group, aiming wands at him, shooting lighting and fire at him. There is…

There is Modesty screaming where she's trying to hide from him. There is Chastity, thrown against the wall as he passed her by. There is the church, crumbling in his wake.

Credence bows his head. He thinks he's cold, and so he hugs his knees to himself – but it's not cold. He can't feel temperature at all. By now the backside of his trousers should be getting cold and wet from whatever he is sitting on, but he can't feel it. He can't feel anything past the visceral sensation of being stuck in a stiff, awkward body that he isn't sure has ever managed to stand up straight.

No, he did stand up straight. Before. When Mr. Graves had been attempting to apologise, telling him he had control. Credence said he didn't want to – and then he stood up straight. It… hurt more than he thought it would. But maybe that was just Mr. Graves.

Somehow, thinking of Mr. Graves has always hurt.

Taking a deep breath Credence squeezes his legs and on the slow exhale he relaxes. Then, clumsy, he unfolds himself and slowly stands up, slightly shaking hand taking support of the dirty brick wall behind him. Each move that straightens him out sends a trembling echo of pain across him, and it helps him settle.

This is what it is to be human, to have a body. To have limits.

The other thing, the Obscurus – it doesn't really have any.

His back aching and his toes numb, Credence sets out of the alley and into the street beyond.

* * *

 

Credence finds Modesty first. She's still where he last saw him, hiding under collapsed piece of a wall, barely supported by broken furniture. She's out of it, unconscious or just asleep, he doesn't know – but she's breathing, barely audible little snuffles against her arms. She looks exhausted.

She doesn't stir when he gathers her from the rubble, lifting her up in his arms. She's surprisingly light, all things considered. Or maybe he's stronger than he'd assumed – he isn't sure. She doesn't weight much, in any case, and as her head rolls to his shoulder Credence turns to leave the ruined building.

"Mother?" she whisperers against his neck.

"Mother's gone," Credence answers. He's sure about that at least – he remembers her, twisting in his hold, her skin growing cold, leaching of life. Years he had dream and hoped and _prayed_ that one day she would just wake up dead and he'd be free and she never had – and now, because of him, she is gone. And it was terribly easy.

Modesty goes still in his arms. "Credence?" she asks, and her voice trembles.

"I'm sorry Moddy," Credence murmurs. "I'm sorry. I didn't – I didn't mean to scare you, I'm sorry. I just. Mother –"

Mother had wanted to beat her. It never happened before – Credence had always made sure to be there, to assume any blame that should've fallen onto his sisters, and then, then… Modesty had brought in a toy wand. Mother would've _killed_ her for it.

"I didn't want you hurt," Credence mutters. Mother wasn't supposed to hurt the girls – she never did and she wasn't supposed to start then and… he just couldn't.

Modesty is stiff in his arms as Credence steps out onto the street. Then she curls up tight, tucking her face under his chin. "Where's Cassie?" she asks in weak little whimper.

"I don't know. Let's go find her," Credence says, and sets his steps towards the church. He doesn't let Modesty down, and she doesn't ask to be released.

* * *

 

The church is in ruins. Credence fights a weird mixture of horrified dismay and relieved satisfaction at the sight of it. Only the side wall is left standing, where the old chimney makes it thicker and supports it – everything else has been brought down. It's a mess of bricks and ceiling tiles and dust and utterly, irreversibly ruined.

He'd done that.

There are a lot of gawkers near by – mostly neighbourhood kids. The morning is dawning now, and they're the usual crowd that gathers there in hopes of a early breakfast at the church. Now they gather in groups, whispering in dismay and horror and little bit of glee, wondering what had happened. Maybe it was a earth quake, maybe it was a gas pipe – maybe it was a _witch_.

"Mr. Credence," one of them says, recognizing him. "Mr. Credence, what happened? Where's Mother Barebone?"

"Dead," Credence answers and Modesty takes a breath that's too sharp and too quick to be anything but a sob. "There's nothing here. Run along."

They don't, of course, withdrawing into their little groups, whispering and pointing. Credence ignores them and wades into the destruction, looking, desperately, for any sign of Chastity.

He knows where Mother is, and avoids that sport like the plague in his search.

Modesty stirs in his arms after a while and then points. "There," she says.

"Sure?" Credence asks and she nods. Nodding back, he heads to where she's pointing and there, finally, sets her down on a pile of cracked ceiling tiles and bricks. She's watched silently as he digs into the pile, pushing aside bits of wood and rubble and then he sees a pale hand.

Chastity is unconscious. She'd hidden under the stairs when everything had started collapsing, and the stairs – before they too had collapsed – had sheltered her a little. There is a bruise on her forehead one of her ankles is in awful angle, swollen in it's shoe. Credence pulls her out awkwardly and then inspects the ankle. It's broken.

She doesn't wake up when he works the shoe off her foot, even though it must hurt.

"Is she going to be okay?" Modesty asks, looking between Chastity's pale face, and Credence's.

Credence doesn't answer – he doesn't know. Instead he thinks desperately of what to do. Take her to  a doctor, maybe? They don't have money and no one will help them without, especially not with who they are. No one in the neighbourhood likes them much – those _Weird Salem Church People_ are known fairly wide across the city and Mother hadn't made very many friends with her sermons. Even with Mother gone…

Credence supports Chastity up and then tries to lift her into his arms, the way he did Modesty. Chastity is older, however, and weighs more and what strength Credence found in carrying Modesty isn't enough. After a moment, he shifts so that he can carry her in his back instead, giving the unconscious girl an awkward piggyback ride.

Her foot hands in front of him, angle of the ankle wrong, swelling more as he watches.

"Take her shoe," Credence says, and Modesty picks it up, clutching onto it fearfully.

"Where are we going to go?" Modesty asks quietly.

Credence hesitates and then remembers. That man, before. _I'm here to help you. I'm not here to hurt you._

He bows his head, biting his lip. Even Mr. Graves had never promised that. Mr. Graves had promised to help him if he helped Mr. Graves in return – telling him that freedom and security were things you had to work for, to earn, all the while telling Credence was doing a good job, all the while telling him to do more, all the while never… That man, from before, he'd just promised, not speaking of ifs and when – he'd just promised.

He'd seemed so earnest – and so terribly sad when it was all over.

Credence takes a breath and then looks down on Modesty. "This way," he says, and hugging Chastity's shoe close Modesty follows him across the rubble their home had become, and then away.

* * *

 

The walk seems longer with Chastity's weight on his back – it seems to drag on for ever and she seems tiny bit heavier with every step. The fact that she doesn't wake even when he stumbles worries him, but he keeps going. He doesn't know what else to do, but keep going.

He takes his sisters where it all happened. In the subway.

The wizards are all gone now, and the whole place looks good as new – or at least, as good at it had before he'd destroyed most of it. The memory makes him shudder a little and he takes a seat on a bench, letting Chastity down there.

This was the place where the wizards had trapped him. How they'd done that he doesn't know, but it was one of the worst feelings he'd ever felt and he isn't sure if it's even safe, here… but he doesn't know where else to go.

"Why are we here?" Modesty asks.

"I'm hoping… someone will come," Credence admits as he eases Chastity down on her back and examines the ankle. It looks terrible but he doesn't dare to do anything about it in the fear of making it worse – so he just lays it out.

"Who?"

He looks at her, at the way she's still hugging the shoe. "A wizard," he then admits.

It's almost fascinating, watching the emotions flitter on her face – dismay and terror and confusion and unease. Wizard isn't a word Mother often used – her crusade was always against _witches_ but wizard is still a magical word, for magical people, and therefore utterly unnatural.

"Why?" Modesty finally asks, her voice shaking as she trembles on the edge of backing away from him and running away.

"Because… because he promised to help," Credence sighs and sits on his knees beside the bench, turning his eyes to Chastity. She's so pale. "And I don't think anyone else would."

"But… a wizard… that's bad," Modesty says slowly.

"Mother was bad," Credence answers and she doesn't have much to say to that.

They wait in silence after that.

* * *

 

Credence is nodding off when arrival of a train rattles him awake. Modesty is curled against his side and she almost jumps out of her skin, and together they stare at the subway train barrelling past them on the tracks, filling the subway tunnel with smoke and heat.

It pulls to a grinding, noisy halt in front of them.

"Are we going in?" Modesty asks.

"No, we haven't the money," Credence answers and wraps an arm around her before looking back at Chastity. Still unconscious, but still breathing. Reaching out, he runs a hand over her cheek – she feels cold.

"Credence, I'm hungry," Modesty admits quietly.

"Me too," Credence admits with a sigh and pulls her into his lap before looking around in the subway. There are few people there, keeping their distance on them – couple give them nasty looks, one women visibly sniffing in disgust. They must look like street urchins, Credence muses, while watching them enter the train past the people exiting it.

"We'll… wait few more hours and then…" Credence trails away, unsure. Then what – head home? Their home is a pile of rubble. They have no money, he couldn't even buy food for his sisters. They could maybe go to the police, or wait until authorities decided to investigate the church collapse – but what would that help? At most they'd take look at Modesty and send her to an orphanage, maybe Chastity too though she is already fifteen. And him…

He is twenty one. No one would help him. He is supposed to able to help himself – and he isn't.

"Credence that man is staring at us," Modesty whispers and Credence looks up, irrationally afraid he'd find Mr. Graves there.

It's not Mr. Graves. 

It's a man in a blue coat carrying a leather suitcase who stares at them with mouth slightly ajar – he'd just stepped out of the train and now he's blocking the way the for the rest of the passengers who shove past him in irritation.

"Credence," the man murmurs with shock and then stumbles forward.

Credence hugs Modesty closer for a moment, not sure what he is scared of, only that he is. The man stops few steps away, safe distance, and sets his suitcase down. His hands are empty. "Credence," the man says again, crouching down, glancing at Modesty, at Chastity and then at him again. "Are you alright?"

"My sister has a broken ankle and she won't wake up," Credence says and swallows all the things, bitter and terrible and hopeful, he wants to say. "W-will you help us? Please?"

"Yes," the man says, and his lower lip trembles a little. "Yes, yes of course. Of course I will help."

Credence breathes a little easier at that, but Modesty is still in his arms, staring. "Are you a wizard?" the girl asks warily.

"Well, yes, I'm afraid I am," the man admits. "My name is Newt Scamander. And you are?"

"Modesty," she says.

"And this is Chastity," Credence adds, nodding at the elder of his two sisters. "I – she… she got hurt because of me."

Mr. Scamander nods slowly. "Can I take a look at her?"

Behind him, the train's doors are shut and it lets out a hiss of steam and smoke before slowly starting to roll forward, a heavy lumbering weight. Moment later, a whistle blows and the train picks up speed. The noise is terrible – but soon the train is gone and aside from the people still hurrying for the stairs, they're alone.

Credence nods and slowly Mr. Scamander comes closer. Modesty gasps when the man takes out a wand, and the wizard almost jumps with alarm, fiddling with the wand handle nervously before steeling himself. He waves it, almost artfully elegant, over Chastity.

"She's gotten a terrible knock to her head and her ankle is broken – some scrapes on her left knee, some bruises… nothing life threatening, aside from the concussion," the man murmurs, waving his wand over the cuts and bruises and making them vanish. Then, as Credence watches closely, he swipes his wand tip along the leg of Chastity's stocking, splitting it open. Very gentle, he eases the fabric aside to reveal the swollen ankle. It's going yellow and purple.

Modesty draws a breath and Credence's stomach clenches. The wizard hums thoughtfully and draws a circular motion over the ankle with his wand. Something happens then under Chastity's skin – the swelling goes down, the purple fades – and then there is a terrible _snap_ as the ankle rights itself.

"Does that hurt – does it hurt when you do that?" Modesty asks.

"It would, if she was awake – unconscious she won't feel a thing," the wizard promises, running his wand over the ankle again before nodding and repairing the sock. "It will be a little tender for a couple of days, but she should be fine. As for the concussion… hmm…" he turns to them. "Has she vomited?"

Credence shakes his head – there hadn't been any when they'd found her. "No, she just won't wake up."

"Right," the wizard answers and taps Chastity's forehead with his wand. "And how long has she been unconscious?"

"Since… since yesterday. It was couple of hours before…" Credence looks at the subway station. "Before this place."

"Alright. Well, she doesn't have a skull facture and her nervous system doesn't seem interrupted. She's just knocked out – and I'd rather let her rest it off and come to on her own," Mr. Scamander says. "If she doesn't wake up before evening, however, I will ennervate her. Now," he turns to look at Credence and Modesty. "Are you two alright?"

Modesty shakes her head. "I'm fine," she says a little defiantly.

"Our home…" Credence starts to say, but then can't finish, his shoulders slumping a little. "We don't have a place to go. There's nothing, there's no one who would…"

Mr. Scamander's face is full of sadness. "Alright," he says very gently. "Do you want to come with me, then? I am staying with couple of friends I made, and I'm sure they wouldn't mind. They'd be at work right now too, so it would be just us for a little while."

Modesty bites her lip and looks up to Credence who just nods. It's not as if he could offer them anything better. "Please," he just says, and it sounds pathetic even to his ears.

Mr. Scamander doesn't say anything about it, he just nods and stands up again. "I can't apparate all three of you," he says apologetically. "And it's bit of a way there. Are you good to walk?"

"We'll manage," Credence says and pushes at Modesty gently until she gets up from his lap. Then, with his knees cracking with the effort, he gets up from the subway floor and turns to Chastity. She's still heavy – but at least now her broken ankle isn't a constant reminder of what he'd done to her.

Modesty eases Chastity's shoes back on, binding the strap before stepping beside Credence and holding onto his sleeve. They turn to Mr. Scamander who gathers his suitcase from the floor. Nervous and helpless, they follow the wizard out of the subway – and probably, from the life they'd known.

* * *

 

The place Mr. Scamander takes them is lovely and homely in way neither Credence nor Modesty have ever known. The wall papers are neat and beautiful, the furniture is nice and unstained – there are warm lamps and soft carpets and the chairs by the small dinner table are comfortable.

Mr. Scamander leads Credence to a bedroom with two beds. "Let's make your sister comfortable, shall we," he says and helps Credence lay Chastity down on one of the beds. While the wizard takes out a blanket, Credence takes off Chastity's shoes and lays her now two healthy feet gently down. She still looks so pale.

"Is she really going to be alright?" Credence whispers.

"She'll be fine, never fear," Mr. Scamander promises and spreads out a blanket over Chastity. Then he takes out a wand and waves it over her forehead. "She should be waking up soon."

Credence nods and tries to believe him.

"I'm hungry," Modesty murmurs in the doorway, sounding petulant and embarrassed.

"Let's see about getting you something to eat, then," Mr. Scamander says, and after a hesitant glance at Credence, pushes past him. Credence follows after a while – but he leaves the door open, just in case.

 _Getting something to eat_ in a wizard's house apparently is a terribly magical affair. While Modesty stares in horrified wonder, Mr. Scamander whips ingredients in the air haphazardly, the carrots, onion and celery chopping themselves by some invisible force before mixing themselves with spices and bits of chicken, and then there is a bubble of water, floating up.

All the ingredients, somehow, mix themselves into a soup mid air, and then there are plates flying about, conducted by flicks of Mr. Scamander's wand. They set themselves on the table before Mr. Scamander divides the mass of floating food and dishes just enough soup on every plate – and suddenly, the room smells like chicken soup.

Credence opens his mouth and closes it. Modesty lets out a small, distressed noise and clutches onto his hand and they just stare. Mr. Scamander turns to them, looking a little surprised. "Oh, sorry – the Goldsteins don't have any pots or pans here," Mr. Scamander says apologetically. "I'm not as good at backing with magic as they are, but I can manage a soup. Um… please. Take a seat."

It feels like he's pushing through a very real physical barrier, when Credence takes a step forward and stumbles onto a chair. Modesty clutches to his side, her face pale and eyes wide and she just keeps on staring at Mr. Scamander.

"I… promise you it's edible?" Mr. Scamander offers uneasily, fiddling with his wand for a moment before taking a seat himself. "Please try it?"

Credence takes a spoon in somewhat lax fingers and dips it into the soup – and it is… just soup. "Can… can all wizards do that?"

"Well it takes a bit of practice," Mr. Scamander admits, putting his wand away. "I'm not very good at it – I'll be more likely to just make myself a sandwich than actually cook, usually I don't even have the ingredients for cooking, but… I don't think the Goldstein sisters will mind me using theirs."

The spoon shakes a little as Credence lifts it to his lips. Modesty watches him, her eyes even wider as Credence eats the first spoonful. It's salty but… recognizably chicken soup. And ot doesn't have any sort of strange magical taste - not that he'd even know how it works. In the end he nods to his sister, who hesitates a moment longer before she too, takes a seat.

It's impossible to hide how shaky it all makes them feel. Mr. Scamander seems to sense it too, and he becomes more and more awkward by the moment, concentrating onto his own soup uncomfortably. "Will you tell me what happened?" the wizard finally asks, glancing up at Credence and away again.

Credence hesitates, staring at the spoon in his hand. "When Chastity wakes up," he then says.

"Alright," the wizard says. "That's fine. Understandable."

Credence nods and continues eating. Modesty does the same, slowly and hesitantly, the spoon a little too big in her hand. Her hand is shaking even worse than his is, and judging by the looks of it, she too feels like every spoonful is some sort of betrayal. Credence isn't surprised at all when she starts to sniffle quietly and when she has to wipe at her eye between every spoonful.

Mr. Scamander looks between them and he looks almost frightened. "Is – is it bad?" he asks worriedly.

"It's fine," Credence says shakily, and keeps eating.

* * *

 

Chastity is confused when she wakes up. Her eyes wander without catching on anything and for a little while her words slur. While Credence and Modesty watch, all but wringing their hands, Mr. Scamander checks her over, aiming a lit wand tip in her eyes, away again, and then back in, watching how her pupils contract.

"Can you tell me your name?" Mr. Scamander asks gently.

"C-Chastity," she answers and swallows clumsily, her mouth and lips a little loose. "Chastity Barebone. Hello."

"Hello Chastity, my name is Newt Scamander," the wizard says with a brief smile and taps the wand on her forehead. "You're going to be just fine, Chastity. You knocked your head a bit, but just stay calm and you'll be right as rain in no time. Are you thirsty at all?"

"Mm yes," she says and looks up, her eyes passing over Credence and Modesty three times before she frowns. "Credence? Modesty?"

"Hey, Cassie," Modesty says in quiet, scared voice.

"It's going to be alright, Chastity," Credence tells her, nervously tugging at the hem of his sweater, trying to straighten it. It is dirty and dusty and he probably looks terrible. "It's going to be alright."

"My head hurts," Chastity says blearily.

"Why does her head hurt?" Modesty asks worriedly.

"It's the concussion," Mr. Scamander says and stands up. "Just lay back, Chastity, I'll get you some water."

"Shouldn't we get her food?" Credence asks under his breath when the wizard comes closer to the doorway.

"Not before we know she can keep liquid in her," Mr. Scamander shakes his head, and then gets a pitcher of water and glass from the living room.

Chastity accepts the glass and drinks in slow, confused sips, taking strange, aborted breaths between. Credence is terrified she'll inhale the water but she doesn't and after a moment she sets the glass down. It almost tips over to her lap.

"Where's Mother?" she asks, looking up with much sharper eyes. "Credence? Where's Mother?"

Credence twists the fabric of his sweater in his hands and it almost tears.

"Mother's gone," Modesty says and her voice trembles before solidifying into something firmer, something stronger. "She's gone, Chastity. She's gone for good."

Chastity blinks confusedly and looks down at the glass in her lap. "Good," she repeats slowly. "That's good."

Mr. Scamander looks between them uncertainly, as Modesty nods shakily and wipes at her eyes and Credence finds he can finally breathe again.


	2. Chapter 2

There's something Credence is quickly figuring out.

Mother didn't know anything about magic, not really. Mr. Graves has proved her wrong by is very existence and Mr. Scamander swipes the rug out of everything else with almost negligent flick of his wand as he turns what's supposed to be not only evil but _impossible_ into a every day normalcy. He not only heals and cooks with magic like it's the most natural thing, but he cleans tables and washes dishes and makes bed – literally, _makes a bed_ out of _thin air_ from what it looks like.

"It's not as comfortable as the real thing, of course," the wizard says, turning his wand in his hand as they look at the cot made between the two beds. "But I hope it will do.

Modesty makes a noise like she wants to object and Credence runs a hand across his face, just so unsure about it all. This… this isn't how magic… well no, he has no idea what magic is _supposed_ to be like, but it isn't how he thought it would be. Mr. Graves always made it seem like… like it was more special. Rarer. _Dangerous_. Something to used under duress and for benefit of great causes. Cleaning, cooking, making _beds_ , it seems not quite wrong but…

"But it's… not real?" Modesty asks, staring at the cot.

"It's real for as long as it is here," Mr. Scamander says. "Couple of days, it will break up, yes, but it's better than nothing, yes?"

She looks like she wants to object and Credence really can't blame her – but she, much like himself, can't think of anything to actually say. It's hard to object to something that's just… happening.

"I want to sleep on the real bed," Modesty says after a moment, sounding a bit frustrated.

"Fine," Credence says with a sigh.

Chastity watches the whole thing from the other bed with a slight frown, not saying anything. She, like they, is frowning at the un-real-bed between the two real ones, but Credence has a feeling the concussion softens the blow a little for her.

" _Magic_ ," she says and shakes her head disapprovingly.

Mr. Scamander winces a little at that and looks down. "Sorry," he says glances at Credence – and away and back again, not quite able to hold eye contact. He hasn't been able to do that at all the whole time they'd been there. "Do you have everything you need?"

"Yes, it's… fine," Credence says and it really isn't, but… it is better than the street and he cannot and will not argue with Chastity's healed ankle. "You… asked about what happened. I, uh…"

Mr. Scamander presses his lips together, glancing at the girls. "It can wait until you're more rested," he offers. "There's no hurry, really."

"No, I," Credence takes a breath and lets it out slowly. He wants to get it out now – before it starts strangling him. "I want to get it out of the way."

His sisters stare at him with mixed looks of apprehension and sort of morbid interest and slowly Credence takes seat on the not-real-bed. It feels, well, real under him, the frame hard wood, the bedding so far and yielding. "The… the Obscurus, I never really figured out what that is, exactly," he admits.

"Do you want me to explain it?" Mr. Scamander asks while breaking yet more of the laws of nature to conjure a _chair_ out of thin air. He sits on it, fiddling with his wand again. "There's no one out there who can really claim to be an expert, not anymore I don't think, but… I'm somewhat learned on the subject."

"Please," Credence says, bowing his head and feeling Modesty and Chastity stare at him.

"An Obscurus is a… or rather, it is _thought_ to be something that a magical child develops in answer to suppressing their magic," the wizard tells them. "Through abuse and neglect, through being punished for accidental magic, they… try to become non-magical. And in so doing they turn their magic inwards and attempt to, I suppose, snuff it out – and from there, an Obscurus is born. It's a mass of violent, raw magical force, nearly uncontrollable."

"Nearly," Credence mutters while his sisters frown with confusion.

"Well, before you, it was thought to be flat out impossible," Mr. Scamander says. "And it is because of you… I'm not entirely sure my previous observations and theories on Obscurials were entirely correct. An Obscurial being the person who develops the Obscurus."

"Wait," Chastity says. "Are you saying – Credence?"

Credence stares at his knees. From the corner of his eyes he can see Mr. Scamander's hands, stilling in their fiddling.

"I can roughly guess what happened, having seen your…" Mr. Scamander trails away. "Magic, I imagine, wasn't looked upon kindly in your home."

Credence swallows and shakes his head, turning his eyes to his hands. Mr. Graves had healed them many times, but they're still scarred, red, bruised. He thinks they might always be that way. "I don't remember but I think… she – she started because…"

Mr. Scamander hums. "So you suppressed it."

"I don't remember," Credence repeats. "But I always tried to… to not do it. It was always there, I was always aware of it, but tried to not… do anything with it. I was harder when I was a kid, I think I let it slip every now and then, and eventually I guess… I guess I got the Obscurus and then it was different."

"Easier? Harder?" Mr. Scamander prompts gently.

Credence shakes his head. "Just different."

It had been an airy thing when he'd been younger – a sort of lightness inside him that made everything seem easier. Comparing it to how it is now, it is as if the gravity itself had had lesser hold on him back then – like everything was just little bit effortless. But it had also always bubbled out of him, by it's own – it had made things float to him, had made cold food warm and warm milk cold, it had repaired things he accidentally broke and sometimes it even made toys dance for him… back when he had toys.

Then there was the punishments. And it stopped being a light thing – it started to be a failure and a weakness, something that got him hurt, got him disciplined, often harshly. He started… not quite hating it, but fearing it coming out and he wished so hard, every morning that please, not today, not today, don't come out today, don't make Mother think ill of me today.

Eventually it stopped coming out.

And then it started to weight on him

"You controlled it, though," Mr. Scamander says slowly. "You must have, otherwise there would be earlier incidents."

Credence swallows and looks up. "Mr. Graves always said that… he thought it was a child and he always said that they were in danger, that they were dying," he says and looks up at Mr. Scamander. "Was I supposed to die as a kid?"

The wizard hesitates. "I wouldn't say you were supposed to do anything… but Obscurials usually die before they turn ten," he admits. "The Obscurus becomes too much, too strong. Usually it causes an incident the host can't escape from – they get caught in a collapsed building, or an explosion, that kills them."

Credence nods. "I kept it from coming out," he murmurs. "I guess that helped."

"Wait, wait," Chastity says, looking more alert now, and wide eyed. "Credence really is one of these… Obscurus people? He has magic?"

Mr. Scamander smiles sadly. "Yes, he is."

"Can't he stop being one?" Modesty asks. "Stop being a Witch?"

"The correct term is a Wizard, and no," Mr. Scamander says, shaking his head. "Magic is as natural part of us as is any other part of our bodies. You can't get rid of your magic any more than you can get rid of your blood or nervous system. Even when you reject it, it will remain – only in a far more uncontrollable form."

"But… it's not natural," Modesty whispers.

"I'm sorry to say it's very natural," the wizard says. "There's been magic as long as there's been life – probably long before it. Humans have had magic for as long as there's been humans at all."

"But nothing else has magic," Chastity says with a frown. "It can't be natural if only humans have it – it has to be artificial or –"

"Again, wrong," Mr. Scamander says apologetically. "There hundreds of other magical creatures and, just like wizards and witches, they were born like that. We wizards simply keep them secret and safe and hidden."

Chastity stares at him in horror and Credence sighs. Another thing he didn't know and couldn't have imagined. Magical creatures. "I thought it was just people," he admits. "Witches and Wizards. I didn't know there were animals."

"I assure, magical animals are a very real thing – they are, in fact, my job," Mr. Scamander says and leans back a little. "I am a Magizoologist – I study magical creatures."

"There are… magical jobs," Chastity murmurs. "Magical jobs and magical creatures. How many are there of you people?"

The wizard hesitates. "I believe the statistic is somewhere along the lines of one hundredths of a percentage of the total human population is magical," he says. "At least roughly so. So, currently there is estimated – "

"There's hundreds of _thousands_ of you people?" Chastity whispers in horror.

"Close to two hundred thousand I believe," Mr. Scamander says, giving her a curious look. "But that is world wide. It really varies depending on place, but that is roughly the global estimate."

They all stare at him and Credence feels what little he thought he understood crumbling. Two hundred thousand world wide. _Two hundred thousand_.

No wonder Mr. Graves called it a _world_.

"How do you stay hidden?" Chastity demands to know. "When there's so many of you and there's _creatures_ and who knows what else – how do you stay hidden at all?"

"By taking care, being careful – having system in place that prioritises secrecy," Mr. Scamander says and there's something strange about his tone of voice before he shakes his head. "We have our hiding places and means to say unseen. Most of the times, most wizards have no reason to interact with Muggles – ah, non magical humans – at all, so, they don't."

"Muggle," Chastity repeats incredulously.

"They call them Nomajes here in the States," the Wizard says helpfully which, really, isn't helpful at all.

"Mother was right," Modesty whispers. "Witches live among us."

Credence looks up at that, glancing at his youngest sister. She looks pale and shaky. Chastity is much the same, but she is more offended than she is scared. And he… he really isn't sure. It's just so much.

"We do," Mr. Scamander admits. "But really we're not that much different from you." They all stare at him in disbelief and he looks down awkwardly, wringing his hands a little. "I think we've gotten a little sidetracked, however."

"Right. The Obscurus," Credence murmurs and looks down at his hands again. He flexes his fingers. "Is it like tumour?"

"It is to believed to be much like it, yes, but I have my doubts now," Mr. Scamander admits. "Credence, can you tell me how you control it?"

"It's… I don't really know," Credence admits. "I just… don't let it out. It's always there, sometimes it feels like it's what I have for insides, like there is nothing but that thing inside me and I'm just a shell but –" he stops, biting his lip. He'd never said that out loud before. "As long as I'm… not angry or hurting too bad, I can keep it inside."

He looks up at Mr. Scamander. "But when it comes out, I can't tell it what to do," he says and shakes his head. "I can't tell it where to go or keep it in check – it just does things."

The wizard nods slowly and looks away. "Is that what happened to Senator Shaw?"

Credence can feel all the blood drain from his face. "You – you know about – "

"It was a major magical incident," he wizard says quietly. "It was investigated. I even consulted on it – and I could recognise the signs on his body. Only n Obscurus causes damage like that."

Chastity draws a sharp breath. "Credence – you… you killed a man? You killed _Senator Shaw_?!"

Credence jerks and lowers his face. "I – I didn't mean to," he chokes out. "I swear I didn't mean to, I couldn't stop it – I wasn't even… I only knew for sure when it was on the paper, I didn't –" he takes a shaking breath squeezes his eyes shut. "M-mother took us to that publishing house, with the editor – to get the message onto the paper and he was there, Senator Shaw, he… he said terrible things and –"

And it had hollowed him out, that word, the way the man had spoken it. It had left him completely empty and crushed, to hear someone so important, so influential, call him that. And Mr. Graves had left him even shakier so soon after an he just couldn't manage it…

"I don't know why I can't control it anymore – I could before," Credence whispers. "I could just push it down and it was fine but last few weeks, it's just so close to the surface all the time and I can't _stop it_ –"

Mr. Scamander is quiet for a moment watching him while Chastity stares in dumbstruck horror and Modesty looks between them all confusedly.

"Do you know what happened, about month ago?" Mr. Scamander says gently.

Credence looks up with a frown. "Month ago?" he asks confusedly.

"Month ago, a witch tried to help you," the wizard says. "I'm not entirely sure how she came upon you, but she saw you being hurt by Mary Lou Barebone and she stepped in. I think she might have used magic, she was suspended from her job because of it so she probably did. And if she did… then you would have been Obliviated as result, as is standard protocol when apparent Muggle comes in contact with magic. Your memory of the event, erased."

Credence frowns. "I don't…"

"You can do that – just take people's memories away?" Chastity demands in horror.

"It's a skill I personally think is used much too often, but yes, it's how we stay secret," Mr. Scamander nods. "And I think Credence was most likely Obliviated – and something about that Obliviation tampered with your control. They took some bit of knowledge you needed to keep the Obscurus in check. And after that…"

Credence stares at him, wide eyed.

"So, witches did this to Credence?" Modesty asks with a frown.

The wizard opens his mouth and then frowns, looking down. "Well," he says slowly. "They certainly didn't help in the matter. I'm sorry to say, your country's Magical Congress has some _terrible_ rules about interacting with non magical people."

"Yours isn't like that?" Credence asks, desperately grasping for something other than the knowledge that his _mind_ has been tampered with.

"Oh, British Ministry of Magic is terrible in it's own unique ways, I assure you, no magical government or government in general is perfect," Mr. Scamander sighs. "And sadly I doubt they would've acted differently in a case like yours. But at least they don't forbid all contact with the non magical like they do here."

"Governments," Chastity mutters. "Magical _governments_. I can't believe this."

Mr. Scamander shrugs his shoulders awkwardly and then turns his eyes to Credence – and then away again. "I imagine that control has been getting harder and harder – the incidents before had no fatalities," he says. "And from what I've seen, they escalated, growing larger – lengthier. Control is becoming harder for you, isn't it?"

Credence winces and nods. "I… it doesn't feel as bad now," he admits. "What happened in the subway, it made it weaker. It doesn't feel as big now, I guess."

The wizard's face crumbles a little at that and his shoulders slump. "I'm sorry. I wish I could've stopped them."

"What happened in the subway?" Modesty asks quietly. "Credence?"

"Some wizards stopped me from… destroying things," Credence says evasively. "It's probably a good thing. It weakened the thing, the Obscurus. It's not as bad now." It also tore him to pieces and he couldn't get all of them back, but… his sisters don't need to know that.

Mr. Scamander's lips tighten at that and he looks like he wants to object – but he doesn't. "Right," he murmurs. "Right."

There is a moment of silence as the wizard runs a hand over his eyes, and Credence doesn't look at anyone. Chastity clears her throat eventually. "What happens now?" she asks hopelessly. "If Credence killed people – and Mother… and our home is _gone_. We don't have a place to go, do we? Credence?"

Credence shakes his head silently.

"Well… I promised to help you," Mr. Scamander says taking a deep breath. "I'm going to try and do that. And as far as anyone knows, Credence is dead. It… might be safest to keep things that way."

Credence swallows at that and nods. "That's fine," he whispers.

"And we?" Chastity asks in a small voice. "What about us?"

The wizards looks at her and then at Modesty. "What do you want?" he asks.

Credence glances up and Chastity shares a look at him and Modesty. They, much like him, have no idea. The world is shaken too badly, everything is too uncertain, they have no options.

"…stay with Credence?" Modesty says tentatively. "Can we do that?"

Mr. Scamander nods. "Of course you can," he promises and then looks between them. "I… well, I am going to be leaving New York soon – tomorrow, in fact. I don't suppose you would like to go to the United Kingdom with me?"

They all look up at him. "What – England?" Modesty asks, her voice a little high. "You want to take us to _England_?"

"But - we don't have passports?" Chastity says, more confused than anything.

"Well," Mr. Scamander says and shrugs his shoulders almost carelessly. "I guess I should clarify – would you like to be _smuggled_ to United Kingdom?"


	3. Chapter 3

They argue. Credence spends most of it staring at his hands while Chastity paces along the small bit of open space in the room, ranting. Mostly it's just her coming to terms with the whole thing, Credence thinks, getting her thoughts in order. She used to do the same thing when they were younger, before… before being loud started being dangerous.

"We can't do this, can we? It's _illegal_ Credence! Smuggling! And smuggling people too, that's worse than smuggling just things isn't it?" Chastity says, running hands over her hair and looking at him. "And magic, too, all of this magic – we can't do this, can we?"

Credence smoothes out his fingers, digging the tip of his thumb into the meat on the side of his palm. There's old scar there, under his skin – Mr. Graves, Grindelwald, whichever, had healed it. It still feels hard though under his skin, like there's something trapped there under the surface. He has other scars just like it, these knots of stiffness under his skin. He thinks they will probably always be there.

"What else are we going to do, Chastity?" he asks when the silence stretched. "You could maybe go, be normal. Maybe you could get a job, you're old enough. Modesty's eight, though. She'd go to orphanage. You know that."

Modesty draws a sharp breath. It cuts deep, that word – it's a threat that they've all heard over the years. Mother, when she was aggravated or tired or just annoyed with them, telling that she should've just left them or taken them to an orphanage and be done with them. Telling they should be happy she hadn't, that she'd taken them into her house instead, take care off them. That they should be grateful, because orphanage was a terrible, terrible place.

"I don't want to go to orphanage," Modesty whispers. "Mother says they do horrible things to little girls in orphanages. I don't want to go there. I want to stay with Credence."

Credence digs his nail into the old scar and then winces when it pulls on another, fresher cut. "And I can't stay here. I killed someone, I killed Mother too – if I stay I might kill someone else. I can't… stay here." He couldn't stay _free_ , not like that. Mr. Scamander was… unknown, but he _knew_ things. He might know how to stop him too.

"Credence," Chastity says, her expression twisting.

"I don't want to kill any more people," he admits quietly. "I never wanted to kill anyone and I don't want to keep doing it."

There's a moment of silence and Credence dares to look up. Modesty is curled up into a ball on her bed, hugging her knees with a troubled frown on her face. Chastity is squeezing her hands into furious, helpless fists.

"How do we know we can trust him?" Chastity asks quietly. "If we go with him… we'll be at his mercy. And it'll be even worse – we'll be stuck where he is, we can't even walk away and once we make it to _England_ … we'll be illegal immigrants."

Credence's shoulders slump a little. They're all terrifying concepts, being at someone's mercy, being unable to escape, being _illegal_ … but he already is, and he's effectively faked his own death even if he did it without meaning to. "You can stay if you want," he says quietly. "I can't, Chastity. I _can't_."

Chastity draws a breath and releases it slowly. She paces a couple of steps and then turns back, drawing another breath. "Fucking _shit_ ," she then says with relish, making Credence look up with astonishment and Modesty let out a little _meep_ of horror.

Chastity winces, looking sheepish and then shaking her head. "I don't like this, I don't like any of this, but it's not as if I could just walk away," she says and then falls to sit beside Credence. "You're my idiot brother and I'm not leaving you alone with… whatever all of this is."

Credence bows his head. "I'm sorry."

Chastity scoffs and lets out a sigh. "I don't think it's your fault," she says. "If what Mr. Scamander says is right and you're just _born_ with this stuff, then…" she shakes her head and falls quiet for a moment. "What are we going to do though? We go with him, sure, but after that? Is he just going to keep us, do we have to hide for the rest of our lives? And if we want to go away later, can we? If we're in England, illegally…"

Credence shakes his head. "I don't know," he says. "I really don't know."

Modesty crawls out of her bed and onto the cot, coming behind them and tucking herself between them. Credence makes room for her automatically and wraps an arm around her. "We won't be split, though," she says. "Will we?"

"We won't be," Chastity says firmly. "We're sticking together."

It's good thing she says it because Credence can't muster up the energy to lie.

* * *

 

What Credence expects from the actual owners of the apartment he's not sure, but it's not a shrill gasp and something breaking and sharply hissed, "Newt what did you do _now_?" coming through the door. Then someone marches up to it and wrenches it open – and there's another gasp.

"I wasn't sure how to warn you," Mr. Scamander says, wringing his hands awkwardly. "And since it's a bit sensitive I wasn't sure if it would even be safe, so..."

"Credence?" the dark haired woman whispers. Credence thinks he's seen her before – in the subway maybe? Her face is familiar, so is her voice, he thinks she spoke to him at some point. Behind her a blond woman is covering her mouth with both hands and she's crying – why is she crying?

"Right," Mr. Scamander clears his throat before waving his hand back and forward awkwardly. "Credence, Chastity, Modesty; these are Tina and Queenie Goldstein. Tina, Queenie; the Barebone siblings."

The dark haired woman shakes her head in a sort of horrified wonder. "Only you Newt," she murmurs and steps into the room. Credence shifts where he's sitting, not so subtly putting more of himself between the woman and his sisters and she stops.

"Credence?" the woman asks hesitantly. "Are you alright?"

"Fine," Credence says, looking between her and Mr. Scamander, a little unsure.  These were the man's friends and maybe the dark haired woman was trying to help before but –

"We're not going to hurt you sweetheart," the blond woman says, her voice wavering a little. "No one is going to hurt anybody here – you're all safe here."

Credence frowns a little confusedly at that.

"Are you witches?" Modesty asks, pressing close to Credence's side.

The women exchange looks and the blond one steps closer slowly. "We're not bad witches, I swear," she says and smiles. It probably would've been a little more reassuring if it hadn't been shaking so badly. "Only good witches here, I promise."

"How did you find them?" the darker haired woman asks, turning to Mr. Scamander. "As far as anyone knows…"

"They found me, really," Mr. Scamander says and turns to look at Credence. "And what anyone knows – it might be best keep them thinking that way. Of course… depending on what you three decided," he adds and looks them over.

Credence looks at Chastity. She bites her lip and wraps an arm around Modesty's shoulders. Finally, she nods and Credence turns back to the Wizard. "Yes," he just says. "Yes."

Mr. Scamander nods slowly at that, looking between Credence and his sisters before he looks away awkward. "I ah, promised to take care of them. I'll be taking them out of the country and –"

" _Newt_ ," the dark haired witch says slowly.

"And some of that might be the slightest bit illegal," the man adds, looking away. "Just a smidge."

"A word with you, Newt," the dark haired woman says, grabbing the man by the labels of his coat and then dragging him away. Mr. Scamander's eyes widen a little but he lets himself be dragged away, leaving Credence and his sisters alone with the blond witch instead.

She looks at them with a sort of helpless grief like she doesn't know what to do with them but thinks she has to do something. "I-is there anything you would like – clothes for the girls, maybe - " she says and then brightens up. "And yes, of course – baths! You're all a little dirty – how about I run you a bath? We have lot of bubbly soaps you can use?"

They stare at her in confusion until she shifts awkwardly and then forces a shaky smile. "I'll just go do that now, right – and I'll find you girls some clean clothes. Tina and I have plenty we can spare, and, I'll just…"

She backs away.

"A bath?" Credence mutters as the door closes after her, frowning at it. What on _earth_?

"I… wouldn't mind a bath," Chastity admits. "I'm all over dirt."

"Huh," Credence answers and shakes his head, turning to look at her and Modesty. "Are you alright?"

Modesty leans her cheek against his shoulder tiredly, hugging his arm to her chest. "Witches," she murmurs and looks up. "Do you think we'll meet a lot of witches, staying with Mr. Scamander?"

"Probably," Credence admits. "And wizards too."

She sighs heavily and Chastity frowns. "I guess we should try and get used to it," she murmurs and looks down. "I don't think I ever will though."

"Me neither," Credence sighs and leans his head gently on top of Modesty's head.

* * *

 

Chastity and Modesty are the first ones to have a bath, washing together, and though they're brutally quick about it, it seems to do both of them some good. They come back with wet hair and enormous fluffy towels over their shoulders, and both have a little more colour on their cheeks. They're also wearing a new blouses and a skirts which, surprisingly, fit both perfectly.

"She shrank them to size," Chastity explains, looking down at the clothes. "They were too big and she just made them fit. I wonder if witches and wizards ever grow out of clothing when they can just make things fit like that."

"They're nice, I guess," Credence murmurs. They are lot more colourful than anything they'd ever worn before, anyway. Somehow all clothes in their house always faded to grey. "Will you be alright if I have a bath too?"

"It's fine," Chastity says, though she does hesitate a little. "We'll just stay here and dry our hair."

"Alright," Credence says. "Shout if something happens."

The bathroom of the Goldstein sisters is lot nice than the one they had at the church. Back in church they had only a utilitarian room with faded wooden walls and tab to get water from, and the hip bath had rust here and there. The Goldsteins' bathroom is all gleaming tiles and polished metal, and the bathtub is, while sudsy after the girls' bath, cleaner than any bathtub Credence has ever seen.

He doesn't run a full bath, though, only filling the tub enough to wash himself. The water came out blissfully hot and stayed warm through his scrubbing and all the soaps in the bathroom smelled like perfume – it was all terribly, almost ridiculously lavish. It made his skin crawl a little.

At the church bathing had always been a necessity, not a luxury, and you shouldn't ever spend too much time on it. And there'd only been a cold tab – if they wanted warm water, it had to be boiled in the kettle and it was rare moon Mother allowed that sort nonsense.

Credence washes his hair quickly, scratching at his scalp until it feels clean before bowing down to dip it in the water to rinse it. His back aches a little and the skin pulls with familiar tugging ache but he ignores it, making sure all the soap washes out.

There is a knock on the door. "Credence?" Mr. Scamander calls through it. "I got you some clean clothing too – mine, seeing that the Goldsteins don't have anything for men. They should fit well enough, but I can resize them if they're tight anywhere. I'll leave them outside the door, alright?"

"Thank you," Credence calls back through the door, taking support on the bathtub edge. He waits until he van hear Mr. Scamander's steps leading away before getting out of the bath to dry himself.

There are many mirrors in the bathroom and he tries to avoid looking at any of them as he quickly dries himself in the _very_ fluffy towel prepared for him. He rubs the towel over his hair until it is no longer soggy and then runs his fingers through it, pushing it back.

Then, catching his reflection on the corner of his eyes, he quickly pulls the hair flat down again.

Mr. Scamander's clothes are all clean and nice – light brown cotton trousers, a dress shirt worn thin and soft with use, a vest that matched the trousers. Mr. Scamander has even included socks and a tie, which Credence knots around his neck slowly. It is obviously meant for a bow, but he tucks the ends under the vest instead.

The man in the reflection doesn't look like him, wearing such warm colour. He isn't sure how he likes it. Mother always said that successful, strong people wore strict colours – soft colours were for soft people. And Barebones are anything but _soft_.

Credence isn't sure he would've minded, things being a little softer in his life.

* * *

 

Tina and Queenie Goldstein neither of them know what to do with them, in the end. It's obvious they and Mr. Scamander had spent the time Credence and his sisters had been bathing to argue about them, but they don't seem to have come to any actual conclusions.

Queenie Goldstein still flitters on the side looking terribly sad about them, wringing her hands and always looking like she wants to _say_ something but then snapping her mouth shut sadly. Tina tells them out right that what Mr. Scamander was doing was illegal and there were other options.

"If we took the matter to MACUSA I'm sure we could figure it all out," she says somewhat fretfully.

"MACUSA?" Chastity asks suspiciously.

"Ah, the Magical Congress of the United States of America," she explains. "New York is the capital city of magic in United States and the Congress is where all the decisions happen."

"Are they anything like the people in the subway?" Credence asks. He doesn't mean anything by it, he's just trying to figure it out – but it cuts the woman up short and she lowers her eyes, looking guilty.

"Those were Aurors – our version of law enforcement," Mr. Scamander says and looks at her. "And considering what happened, Tina… Besides, Credence's sisters are Muggles. And you have rules about those."

"What kind of rules?" Chastity asks, looking between them.

"We're… not supposed to interact with them," Tina Goldstein says, frowning at the table between them. "All contact is forbidden and any sharing of information leads to disciplinary actions…"

"If we took them to MACUSA, they'd take Credence in, sure, and then they'd erase his sisters memories," Mr. Scamander says, looking at her. "Right?"

"Newt, that's not fair – and don't try to scare them into your way of thinking," she hisses at him.

"I'm not," the man says and looks away. "That's what would happen, isn't it? It happened to Jacob."

There's a moment of silence at that and Tina Goldstein runs a hand over her face, looking conflicted. Behind her Queenie Goldstein wrings her hands, looking between them all with soulful eyes before looking down. "How about some pancakes?" she says almost desperately. "Pancakes makes everything better."

Pancakes don't make everything magically better – but they are a welcome distraction. Credence watches with a weary sort of wonder as she makes them, cooking very much like Mr. Scamander had – in the air and without utensils. She doesn't even cook the pancakes in a pan or anything – no, they cook themselves on their way down to plates, landing steaming hot and perfect.

The tension in the air is still awkward and wretched, and Credence really doesn't feel hungry at all. Eying the pancake in front of him is an excuse to not look at anyone though, excuse to not think much anything, and he welcomes it. Judging by Chastity's silence, she feels the same.

"Is there jam?" Modesty then asks tentatively.

"Yes, of course," Queenie Goldstein says with great relief and all sort of things float their way into the table – jar of jam, bowl of cream that whips itself before settling down, sugar, even bottle of syrup. Moment later, there are also glasses of milk coming from _somewhere_ and landing in front of them.

Credence doesn't even remember the last time they had pancakes, never mind like this, with so many things on the side. And it might not actually fix anything but… it does taste good.

That's probably something.

* * *

 

Modesty starts nodding off not much after the pancakes and Chastity takes her to the bedroom to sleep. Judging by the looks of how pale she herself is, she probably wants to lay down too – she's been touching her head a lot, like it's aching, so the concussion is probably still affecting her. Credence lets them go without comment and then looks up to the witches and wizard, all of whom are watching him.

"Are you alright, Credence?" Tina Goldstein asks, and it sounds like she's asking about more than his health.

"Fine," Credence says and looks down, at his hands. He doesn't know why he can't stop tugging at old scars and newer cuts, but at least that way he doesn't have to meet anyone's eye.

"There are other things you could do, other places you could go," the woman says. "You don't have to go with Newt – his way isn't the safest way."

All through the pancakes, she'd been making little comments about what they could do – how she and her sister could help even without taking them to the MACUSA. With Mother dead, it stood to reason that Credence would inherit her things and while the church and their home was gone, there might be other sort of wealth. She might've had money they could use to rebuild their lives here, in New York. Or they could move out, to someplace more quiet, someplace cheaper.

She meant well, probably. But he wasn't sure she really understood. Mr. Scamander had offered to take care of them, sure, and hide them and _smuggle them_ … but above all that, he knew things. About Oscurials. About Credence.

"What if the Obscurus gets out of control again?" Credence asks. "Would staying here keep it more safe than it would be with Mr. Scamander?"

"Oh," she murmurs and looks down.

"My sisters want to stay with me and I'm not going to tell them they can't," Credence says. "Chastity is only fifteen, Modesty is just eight, they won't be able to manage by their own. And authorities would just put them, or at least Modesty, in orphanage and… who knows what would happen after. It might not be safe, but it's probably safer."

There's silence after that and when Credence looks up, Mr. Scamander is exchanging silent conversation of expressions with Tina Goldstein. It involves a lot of frowning and meaningful looks.

Queenie looks between them uneasily and then looks at Credence. "I'm sorry, honey," she says. "It's so difficult and we really want to help and make everything better for you, but it's a terrible situation. And Newt is right… you're probably safest as long as people don't know you're still alive."

Credence presses his lips together unhappily. "Because I'm too dangerous."

"And right now very vulnerable," she says sadly.

"There are other people who might think like Grindelwald," Mr. Scamander says.

"Yes, alright, I see your point – but I don't like it," Tina Goldstein says and looks at Credence. "But you shouldn't have to leave the country – Newt could just stay here and –"

"I'm fairly certain Madam President will throw me out herself, if I don't leave," Mr. Scamander admits. "It was a near thing she didn't banish and ban me from ever coming back as it is. I don't think staying is an option."

"But just taking these kids abroad…" Tina mutters.

"Nowhere is really abroad when you travel enough," Mr. Scamander says and looks at Credence. "Right now, letting things settle a little might not be a bad idea. Of course we will come back eventually, but… right now little distance might help."

Going abroad, going to England… Credence can't deny that it sounds a little scary. He doesn't know much about the world outside – some history and of course everyone knows what happened in the Great War and that alone paints a bleak picture of Europe, but aside from that he knows little. It's intimidating, like jumping in darkness without knowing how far below the floor is.

And yet, he's dreamed of running away almost all of his life.

The more he thinks about it, the more he wishes they were already on their way. The more it's discussed and argued back and forth the worse it seems and the waiting and hesitating isn't making it better. He just wants it to be over.

"I want to go," he says quietly.

And apparently, that's all he has to say.


	4. Chapter 4

Mr. Scamander lays down the leather suitcase he carries with him apparently pretty much everywhere. Outwardly it's nothing special really, somewhat old fashioned maybe, somewhat worn with use. But having seen the care given it, the wariness with which Tina Goldstein eyes the thing, Credence has suspicion.

Mr. Scamander opens the suitcase – and there's a ladder, leading inwards into a space far too deep for suitcase.

"How is that possible?" Chastity asks with a frown.

"Undetectable Expansion Charms," the man explains while the Goldstein sisters stand by the door way, watching worriedly. "There are limits of course but with enough time and dedication and hard work, you can expand any space to hundred times it's size."

Chastity scowls and Credence bites his lip. Yet another thing he couldn't have imagined before, another thing he didn't think possible. He's almost getting used to the feeling of vague, overwhelmed disappointment of it. Yet another thing… Mr. Graves had never even hinted at.

"I can go first if you'd like – but it's perfectly safe so as long you don't go running into things," Mr. Scamander says and then puts words to action. He descends down the ladder like it's the most natural thing to do, to just step into a suitcase and descent far beyond it's natural limits. Soon, he's gone, even the fluffy hair out of view, and the suitcase beckons for them, open, ladder top waiting for the next person to descend.

Credence takes a deep breath but before he can step forward, Modesty is already jumping ahead, hurrying down the ladder. On her face she has a look of grim determination, like diving into water she knows is cold but she's going all in all at once, to lessen the blow.

Credence and Chastity both lean in with alarm, and then she's gone in and they're looking _down at her_ as if from second floor. She looks around with eyes growing increasingly wider. "Oh," she says and then looks up. "It's a room."

"Oh, this is just the shed," Mr. Scamander says and there is sound of door opening inside – and Modesty gapes.

Chastity hurries down the ladder before Credence can get to it and so he is the last to see not only the shed – which already is bending rules of _everything_ just by existing. But outside, oh, and _outside_ is very apt way of putting it… outside there is sky.

Credence trails after his sisters and together they gape in sheer disbelief at the wide open space beyond. There is sky above them, open and blue with clouds drifting and sun peeking through them. There are trees and under them there is _dirt_ and there are plants growing in weird knots here and there and the there are – Credence doesn't even know what they are.

Like tears through the world, where he can see into other places, distant lands. A canyon over there, and a shred of night over there, plains in that way and what looks like the desert…

"I-is it – are we somewhere – elsewhere?" Chastity asks, putting words to the weird tangle of concept Credence can't quite keep up with.

"No, this is all in the suitcase," Mr. Scamander says and takes out his wand. He points it upwards, into the sky – and it stops, turning from living picture into a still image – and then it rewinds like Credence imagines movie reel doing, going _backwards_. "Illusions," Mr. Scamander explains. "The ceiling is actually only about fifteen feet above us, but with enough illusions you can make any place seem bigger."

"S-so it's not real," Chastity mutters. "Not real. Okay."

Mr. Scamander nods and puts his wand away. "There's plenty of space here for all of you," he says, looking away. His shoulders come up a little, the move a tiny bit too awkward to be a shrug. "I have been meaning to expand the shed anyway, add few rooms, a bathroom…" he trails off thoughtfully

"And we'd – live here?" Credence asks, finding his voice around the knot of tightness lodged in his throat. "Here?"

"Well, not forever – but for the eight day trip it takes to get from here to Britain," Mr. Scamander says. "It would be safest way to go about it."

"It might not actually be necessary," a female voice comments and they look backwards to see Tina Goldstein joining them. "I have been thinking about it, actually. Newt, we could go to Gnarlak. He could get you all the right paperwork – for a price, of course."

"Gnarlak," Mr. Scamander says, frowning a little. "He sold us out to MACUSA."

"We had prizes on our head back then – we don't anymore," Ms. Goldstein shrugs. "And I hate to say it, but he can do a good job with forgeries. Pay him enough, and he doesn't even bother with forgeries and goes for the real thing instead."

"Who's Gnarlak?" Credence asks worriedly.

"Goblin gangster, he runs a speakeasy, among… _other_ things," Ms. Goldstein says, leaning against the doorframe of the shed and giving them an awkward smile. "He could probably get us all the Nomaj paperwork we need. Identification, passports, that sort of thing. That… might be better than going about without any sort of paperwork. Especially in future."

"Hmm," Mr. Scamander answers. "Last time he wanted Pickett," he mutters somewhat sullenly.

"I'm sure you have something else around here you could sell him," Ms. Goldstein says, arching her eyebrows.

Credence shares a look with Chastity who shakes her head, just as confused as he is. Modesty in meanwhile is staring wide eyed at creature idly strolling towards them – a sort of… ape, maybe. It has platinum shaded fur and sort of sad face and when it comes close enough Mr. Scamander bends down to pick it up distractedly, letting the ape cling to him.

"What sort of thing does Gnarlak usually trade in?" he asks Ms. Goldstein. "A good Lunascope is worth nearly half a thousand galleons and he didn't bat an eye. The Ashwinder egg got barely a passing interest before he saw Pickett…"

Ms. Goldstein considers it and eyes the ape now clambering up Mr. Scamander's shoulders.

"I am _not_ shearing Dougal's fur," Mr. Scamander says severely as the ape climbs to his shoulders, sitting behind his head.

"No of course not," she agrees. "But you have other creatures here with… valuable parts you could collect, probably without harming them, right? What, do you think would be the most valuable for a despicable goblin gangster?"

The wizard considers that for a moment, looking away with a thoughtful frown. "Oh," he then says and grimaces. "I think I have just the thing."

* * *

 

It's a little uncomfortable to let Mr. Scamander and Ms. Goldstein make such plans and preparations for them, going for such lengths as dealing with gangsters to get them things. But, after Ms. Goldstein explained the whole concept, none of the Barebones really have anything to object to.

Having paper work and passports would make them… not illegal. It would be only for Chastity and Modesty of course – Mr. Scamander and Ms. Goldstein both were _very_ vehement about not letting Gnarlak know _anything_ about Credence. But even that much would be a great relief. It spoke of future, of time when they'd pass through customs and get their passports stamped – it spoke of travel, done freely.

It maybe spoke of time when Chastity and Modesty could go their separate ways, if they wanted to. They wouldn't be trapped and bound to Ms. Scamander, but they could… just go.

So, while Queenie Goldstein fusses over them little more, fitting some of her and her sister's old clothes for to Chastity and Modesty, Mr. Scamander spends a time alone in the suitcase and comes away with a round bottle, full of some sort of green and yellow smoke. He looks a little ill at ease as he displays it to Tina Goldstein.

"Undiluted Nundu's breath," the man says grimly.

"Yeah, I'd say that'd about do it," she agrees, looking just as ill as he does.

They leave little after that, leaving Credence and his sisters alone with Queenie Goldstein who tries desperately to keep them distracted and pre-occupied. The whole exchange has captured everyone's curiosity now, though, and though Credence and Chastity have quickly figured out what it was is probably _bad_ , Modesty has no qualms about voicing the question.

"What's Nundu's breath?" she asks from Queenie.

"Ah, well…" the witch dithers for a moment and then, when they all watch her, quickly gives in. "Nundu is a terribly dangerous magical creature – it's breath can give you any number of a hundred deadly diseases," she explains with a smile that doesn't quite hide her unease.

"How is that valuable?" Chastity asks with a frown.

"Well… in hands of someone looking to do another harm without anyone knowing…" Queenie trails away uncomfortably and then offers an awkward smile. "There are people who would pay quite bit of money for something like that."

Credence stares and then looks back towards the door Mr. Scamander and Tina Goldstein had left. "So… they're going to sell _deadly poison_ to a gangster," he says faintly. For them.

Queenie looks at him, at them all, and smiles gently. "It's well worth it, for you to be bit safer," she says quietly.

Credence looks away at that, and doesn't say anything, his mind and stomach both churning.

Chastity looks down to the clothes they'd been examining, for a moment looking as if she's going to change the subject to something safer. Instead she asks in a small, "What's going to happen to us, really?"

Queenie takes a breath and smiles, trying desperately to be comforting. "You're going to go with Newt to England," she says. "He's thinking of renting an apartment in London for you all to live in for a while – or if that doesn't suit you all, his family owns an estate in the country side – or in dire situation, you could go stay with his brother."

"But…" Chastity frowns.

"Oh, honey, he doesn't mind it at all – he's been meaning to settle down for a while anyway to write his notes in order," Queenie assures her. "He doesn't travel all the time – he goes in spurts, spending year or two on the road and then heading back home for a while."

Chastity frowns a little at that, looking at her strangely.

Queenie smiles encouragingly. "Newt is thinking of arranging Nomaj schooling for in England for you and Modesty – or maybe he can hire a tutor, a squib or a Nomaj relative of a witch or wizard, he doesn't know yet, but he's planning it. For Credence he is planning… whatever you need, honey."

Credence swallows. "I don't know what I need," he murmurs.

"Neither does he. You'll figure it out, I think," Queenie says and reaches to take his and Chastity's hands in hers. Her fingers are warm, her nails glowingly smooth and her grip is gentle and reassuring. "He's a caretaker, our Newt. He's going to take good care of you all, I promise."

Chastity takes a hitching breath beside Credence and nods and Credence just stares down at Queenie's hand on his.

Last person to touch his hand like that was Mr. Graves.

* * *

 

Mr. Scamander and Ms. Goldstein come back with looks of mingled success and dismay, and leather folder full of paperwork.

"Oh, you got everything?" Queenie asks with wonder.

"Turns out, Nundu's breath is not as much valuable as it is unheard commodity," Ms. Goldstein says while putting the folder down on the table between them. "As far as Gnarlak knows, it has never even been _rumoured_ to have been sold."

"We got everything," Mr. Scamander agrees wearily. "Everything from your birth certificates to your mother's death certificate – we even got paperwork for your mother's bank account at the Steen bank."

"Yeah," Ms. Goldstein agrees and sits down with a heavy thump. "All of them original copies, too. My mind is reeling right now, I don't even know how he did it and just who he has in his employ, but two hours and we got _everything_. I think the deed for the church is there too!"

Chastity and Credence go through the papers. The deed for the church is indeed there – along with the knowledge that it was formerly a protestant church which had been all but condemned because of water damage and mould and Chester Barebone, Mary Lou's father apparently, had bought it for next to nothing about thirty years ago. Their mother's death certificate is there too, along with a note that she'd be buried with the bare minimum cost in two days. There's bank book, and insurance papers, there's notes from the bank concerning loans none of them knew existed…

There's Modesty's and Chastity's birth certificates, the adoption papers, even paper work for their name changes, their school records, things like that. Even Credence's birth certificate is in the stack – his marks him as having been born in the New Salem Philanthropic Church to a unknown woman who'd died shortly after.

Credence's death certificate is there too. There is no normal one and it is instead a magical document, some of the letters in it actually glowing and stamped with a logo with _moving_ symbols. It's the MACUSA crest according to Ms. Goldstein.

Credence, Chastity and Modesty all stare at the stack of papers in bewilderment – at Mother's debts and bank statements, the church deed, all of it.

"What are we supposed to do with this?" Chastity asks faintly.

"You don't need to do anything," Ms. Goldstein says, even as she hands them their passports. They're both brand new and pristine – one for Modesty and one for Chastity.

"Though I suppose the girls can now become actual passengers on board the ship we're taking, if you'd like," Mr. Scamander muses, eying the papers grimly. "My cabin is a double – the ticket might cover you."

"It might actually be safer, in long term," Ms. Goldstein agrees. "Also, it would lessen the risk of Newt being charged with human trafficking. And give you two an understandable history with Newt if someone later on starts asking questions about you."

Credence looks between them and then looks at his sisters. Chastity just shakes her head, looking overwhelmed, and Modesty is keeping her eyes on her passport, a safer thing to concentrate on than the confusing, terrifying concept of _unknown future_.

"If… it be safer then yes," Credence says. "But does that mean they'd have to stay on the ship for the journey, while I'm down in the suitcase?"

"We're not going to be separated," Chastity says quickly.

"No, no," Mr. Scamander says quickly. "We'll stick to our cabin and keep our door locked and it is no one's business whether or not we actually physically stay there. That's why I get private cabins for myself on board ocean liners – that way I can safely occupy myself in the suitcase during time spend on travelling."

"Oh," Credence says and takes a breath. "Good."

"So, uh," Chastity runs a tongue over her lower lip, eying her passports. "When are we leaving?"

Mr. Scamander takes out his pocket watch and examines it. "In seven hours," he says.

"Oh," Credence says again, little fainted this time.

"I can cancel my ticket and we can go on later cruise," Mr. Scamander offers worriedly.

"No, seven hours… seven hours is fine," Credence says and looks down at the stack of paper work. Their whole lives in form of inch thick stack of paper, and seven hours left in the city they'd all been born in, lived their lives in and would be leaving for possibly ever.

Everything is happening so fast now, too fast for him to keep up. But still… he wants to go. At least then he'll know what's happening.

"Right," Queenie says and clasps her hands together. "We should use this time to make everyone comfortable in the suitcase, right? Newt?"

"Yes, of course," the man says with great relief and quickly bundles the paperwork up again, shoving it all back into the leather folder. "Let's go do that now."

* * *

 

Credence doesn't expect much from their accommodations in the suitcase, not really. As magical and as big as the place is, the more they look around in the place, the more obvious it is that they're interlopers there. Mr. Scamander created the place from scratch to house magical creatures – Credence and his sisters do not by any stretch of imagination belong there.

He doesn't mind the idea of uncomfortable living arrangements. His sisters could live and sleep in the world outside and according to Mr. Scamander his cabin on board the ocean liner should have two beds – Chastity and Modesty could share comfortably. It wouldn't matter if he would have it harder. He was used to it. And it wasn't as if their lives a at the church had been full of luxury – they'd shared rooms, beds, even bedding often enough to be used to it.

They can tough it out.

Only, then Mr. Scamander turns his wand on the somewhat cramped shed and just makes rooms. Walls snap open and doors grow there and rooms grow into the spaces beyond, begrudgingly stretching at the demand of the wizard's wand, growing walls and floors and ceilings with windows dropping into places from seemingly nowhere.

It's not the only room, just the first one – all together the man adds three of them, forcing new space into existence seemingly from _nowhere_ , splitting tight spaces into bigger ones and turning them into actual housing. The rooms are crude and bare, but they're open and, if Credence hadn't known better, he would've called them real.

"There," Mr. Scamander says with satisfaction, wiping a bit of sweat from his brow.

"Newt, honestly – wallpapers," Queenie says and looks at Credence and his sisters. "How would you like your rooms, darlings?"

They stare at her with gaping mouth and she smiles, her cheeks dimpling. "Pink for you, then?" she asks Modesty and turns her wand on the walls Mr. Scamander had created. They ripple and squirm and then they change, and colour spills over the bare wood. Delicate patterns, like birds entwined, dot the walls in grid patterns as they spill into delicate pink colour, not too bright but still colourful.

"Oh," Modesty says, staring.

"And light blue for Chastity – yes?" Queenie asks understandingly, and does the same to another room, turning bare wood walls delicate blue, similar patterns breaking the colour. Chastity eyes the room – _her room_ apparently – with similar shock as Modesty.

Credence has only barely caught up on the fact that they all got their private rooms and somehow Queenie knows _exactly_ what they like – and then what _he_ likes spills across the walls. And before that very moment, Credence has never even considered that he might have a favourite colour.

But, as gold and orange spills onto the walls, warm and enticing, he knows – he's going to love this room.

It doesn't end there, oh no, not even close.

Together the witches and wizard turn wooden crates and barrels and whatever else Mr. Scamander has lying around into furniture. Suddenly they're are beds in the perfect rooms with bedding and sheet, there are beside tables with lamps sitting on top of them, there are wooden desks and chairs with cushioning. Then there are carpets on the floors and curtains on the windows, and everything looks not only liveable but _comfortable._

"Very nice," Mr. Scamander comments, eying Queenie in admiration.

"Thanks, honey," Queenie says, smiling. "It's been a while since I've gotten the chance to do this – Teenie doesn't let me rearrange the apartment that much anymore."

"Because our apartment is fine as it is," Tina Goldstein answers with a sigh and folds her arms. "Newt, do you have a bathroom around here? How about a kitchen?"

"Um," the man says, looking a little sheepish. "I do have a toilet?"

She shakes her head. "It's not just you anymore. There's four of you. You're going to need a kitchen and a bathroom you know. And maybe a dining room."

So, even more rooms are added, and after a while Credence thinks he just turns numb for all the wondrous, impossible things happening. Before he even knows it, there is a bathroom with gleaming tiles and claw footed bathtub, and there is a kitchen with a stove and then there is a dining room with a long table and chairs and he's lost track of what was made when.

By the time magic is close to finished, he is sitting somewhat dully in the place where the house – because that's what it is now, a comfortable and somewhat wealthy _house_ – and the shed spill over each other. Chastity is sitting beside him, wide eyed and speechless and Modesty is hugging Chastity's arm for comfort as even as she stares.

It's just… nice. It's a nice house. The sort of house Credence thinks maybe they all once dreamed about living in, rather than the cold, clammy church.

And it is all in a _suitcase_.

"How is this even…" Chastity murmurs faintly and shakes her head.

"I don't know," Credence answers, he too shaking his head.

"I think I love magic," Modesty says, and she sounds a little incredulous.

They keep on staring in bewildered, astonished silence until the wizard and witches decide they're done, and the house is finished.

"And it's about time for us to start getting ready to go," Mr. Scamander says, turning to them. "If we go now I'll have enough time to get something to fill the pantry with," he adds. Because it seems there's a pantry somewhere in there, now.

Credence shakes his head and gets up. "Am I supposed to stay here, now?"

Mr. Scamander bites his lip an then nods. "That seems safest, yes," he agrees awkwardly, peering at the house they'd made. "I hope it will do. Once we get to the ship and have more leisure time in our hands, I will show you around in the rest of the suitcase, take you three over everything in here, but… but now, we really should get going."

"Right," Credence says and swallows, looking at Chastity and Modesty anxiously.

Chastity takes a deep breath and lifts her chin. "We'll be fine," she says, and the effort she puts into those three words is almost tangible. Modesty clutches onto her hand tightly and nods, but her eyes are growing a little alarmed, her face becoming pale.

"I'll… see you later," Credence says to them, his stomach twisting.

"Right," Chastity nods and then bites her lip.

The Goldsteins hesitate over them, looking like they want to say something, maybe bid him farewell or something like that – but Credence just… can't. Everything is happening so fast and it's all so shaky again, and he just can't do it.

So, he turns and forces himself to walk away, into the magical house – into what he now realises is going to be a confinement, a self imposed imprisonment. It would be much more comfortable than it could've been… but that's still what it's going to be. From here on out, he's going to be locked inside.

He tries to tell himself he's fine with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally figured out a name I liked better. It comes from the Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them screenplay from where Newt talks to Credence on the subway:
> 
> _"NEWT crouches on the floor. CREDENCE looks to him, the tiniest trace of hope dawning in his expression: might there be a way back?"_
> 
> Which is, you know, heartbreaking and fairly suitable for this fic.


	5. Chapter 5

Credence sits for a while in the room made for him, running his hand over the bed covers. There's sheets and blankets and the mattress beneath feels soft, if not quite new. There's quality to it all that has a strange texture he can't quite name – he thinks they were made from bits of clothes and bunch of feathers so maybe that's it. Something, stretched out and made expand, doesn't feel like cotton or silk or wool – it feels it's own, unique thing.

The windows in their rooms show them the same not-quite-real sky as the one outside the shed, the one that stretches over the habitats and enclosures and fake places. It's nice, makes it feel like he's high up rather than deep within, and he appreciates the feeling even if it's fake. It makes him feel… not quite so closed in.

And yet he is, and worse than he was at the church – he can't even walk out of here, not really, because the space is limited and only way out, truly out, is through the hatch and up through the suitcase lid and that's not a way he can freely use.

The room is nice, at least. It's bigger than the space any of them had had at the church – and he has a door he can even lock if he wants to. There is privacy here that he never had at the church. He has his own desk with drawers, he even has a drawer and a wardrobe sitting in the corner. Nothing to put in them, but he has them, same as Chastity and Modesty.

There's illusion of space there, which he appreciates, the same as the window, if that too is fake.

After a while of sitting still, Credence stands and steps out of the room to fully explore the space carved for them in the suitcase's interior. Their rooms are joined by the dining room – it stands between four new doors and the rest of the shed, with Mr. Scamander's things on one wall, and three doors on the other on the other. Chastity's and Modesty's rooms are right beside his, with the door to the kitchen on their left and the door to the newly added bathroom to the right.

He examines the kitchen first and frowns at it. It's… a little strange. There are cupboards and door to the pantry and big table right in the middle of the room, but there is no stove or oven. There's a sink but it looks strange and oddly un-utilitarian, too small and cramped. He doesn't think he could wash dishes in it comfortably. The pantry is spacious with shelves on each wall – slightly cooler than the rest of the impossible space. It's completely empty.

Somehow, the tab in the kitchen works and there's even some mismatches glasses there for him to drink from. The water is cool and tasteless and refreshing. He hopes, mildly doubtful, that it at least is real.

Then he heads to examine the bathroom. He'd seen it being made, had seen crockery being turned into the bathtub and how Queenie added strange, watery motifs into the smooth tiles, but it's different now. With things no longer morphing and flying about it seems more settled, more real – like it all has more weight to it. The bathtub is spacious and clean, the metal feet polished and gleaming and there are shelves for towels and whatever else one might add to a bathroom. There are no towels there, though. Maybe they'd forgotten to conjure those out of thin air.

It's frustrating, all of it. The more he thinks about how all of this was just made in the span of few hours when in reality it should take weeks, months, to build up a house… Magic was supposed to be his saviour, he'd hoped it would be, but he'd never thought it would be so… nonsensical. Peo0ple could just _build_ houses from thin air with magic. What else could they do?

Not cross the Atlantic, apparently, since they had to take a boat.

Running his hand through his hair Credence backed away from the bathroom and fell to sit at the dining table. For a moment he just sits there, resting his face in his hands and breathing. Everything around him is magic, or made by magic, and it was so easy, ridiculously easy, how it all came to be.

Getting any hint of magic out of Mr. Graves had been like trying to reach for the sun – ever distant and deceptively warm. Looking straight at him had always hurt a bit.

Maybe… maybe if he got used to it here, he could finally get the echo of Mr. Graves out of his head.

* * *

 

The minutes stretch on in the silence of the house, the shed. Beyond the shed's closed door Credence can hear the creatures, calling out their animal cries – he can hear wind through the illusionary windows. It only seems to make time pass slower, that distant hint of _more_.

By the time the hatch opens and light shines through, it feels as if it has been days – though he knows, it's only been hour or two.

"Credence!" Chastity calls and then sees him at the table. "We're on board the ship now – and they forgot our tickets completely."

"Who did?" Credence asks.

"Mr. Scamander and the Goldsteins – they forgot to get us tickets. Mr. Scamander had to bribe the captain with golden trinket to get us in," she says and drops down, her heels sharp on the wooden floor. Modesty follows immediately after, all but sliding down the ladder and landing with a thump.

"Right," Credence says and straightens up his back, waiting – but Mr. Scamander doesn't show. "He's not coming?"

Chastity looks up and then shakes her head. "He's putting up spells to make sure no one comes into the cabin – that way we can go back and forth safely. Half and hour and then you can go up if you'd like."

Credence stares. "Go into the cabin?" he asks dully, not sure what to think of that. He certainly hadn't expected it.

Chastity shrugs.

"It's not much to see – it's just two beds and table and small window and that's it," Modesty says while coming closer. "But you can see the ocean, once we're off the port anyway."

Credence swallows and takes a breath – but he can't think of anything to say to that, so he releases it again. He could go out to the cabin. It's not… much, but it's more than he'd expected.

Chastity sits at the dining table, just across from him, and sighs. "So, here we are," she says and looks around them. "Home sweet home," she adds wryly.

"Yeah," Credence says and bites his lip. Here they were – and he'd brought them here. He wants to justify it somehow because even now he can't think of better alternatives, but… he isn't sure there are any justifications for this. And he can't even insult her by saying that she could've stayed – she couldn't have, and they both know it.

"It's nicer than the church," Modesty says, her tone both hopeful and somewhat dubious.

"I guess," Chastity says runs a hand through her hair, tugging at the tangles. She hasn't done it up properly so it trails down to her shoulders in lazy tangles. "It could be worse," she then says, and it sounds like she's telling it more to herself than them. "It could be so much worse."

"Right," Credence agrees.

They fall awkwardly silent, just staring at the room around them, the doors leading to their rooms. There's not much to say about it all – they'd seen it all happen but Credence doubts his sisters believe it any more than he does. It certainly hasn't really settled in yet.

They're going to _live_ here. In this magical place. In a _suitcase_.

How could you even begin to get used to a thought like that?

The silence stretched until feet clatter on the ladder and Mr. Scamander joins them. He has his wand in his mouth and he's taken off his coat. He lands with a clumsy little thumb and rolls his sleeves up and for a moment Credence is utterly distracted by the casualness of it, the way the cloth wrinkles. Mr. Scamander has scars on his freckled arms.

"Right," the man says, dropping his wand in his hand and tucking it under his belt. He looks a little nervous and doesn't quite meet their gazes – smiling instead at the table between them. "How about a tour then?"

Terrible thing is – the house utterly pales in comparison to what's actually beyond the door. They'd seen some of it – the sky, the curtains with their illusions, the _forest_ – but it's different, trailing dully after the man as he shows them from one corner to the next.

It's like Mr. Scamander had just taken bits of the world, of distant lands, and deposited them inside his suitcase. There's a bit of tundra there, a plain there, there is an empty canyon valley there and right beside it there is night and cliffs and right over there the forest, full with moss and undergrowth and birdsong. And in all but two of those places, there are creatures. Impossible, _magical_ , creatures.

"This is were I had Frank, the thunderbird – I doubt you saw him but I released him over New York the other day," Mr. Scamander says and they move on to, "Graphorns – the last mating pair. There are some females still out in the wild I think, but the males are all but gone – bigger horns, you see," and then, "Cockatrice – he's perfectly friendly but can be a bit temperamental so be a bit wary of him," and then, "The Mooncalves, completely harmless and friendly bunch," and so on and so on.

There are creatures after creatures. Some are in closures, some are out of them, tentacle adorned fish creatures floating about in water bubbles along with enormous bugs that fly between them. Then there are creatures that just go about where ever – like Dougal the Demiguise who has free run of the place, and the Niffler that apparently couldn't be kept out even if Mr. Scamander would've liked to.

Some of the creatures they only see from afar like the by now famous Nundu and the Erumpent which is apparently having her mating season and is a little uncontrollable right then. Some, like the Mooncalfs and the Occamies they get close enough to pet.

Credence's mind has utterly stopped trying to keep track of things, and for a while he just stares at the beautiful, shining snake with wings curling absently in his hands, so utterly trusting.

"People raid their nests for eggs. Their eggshells are pure silver, you know," Mr. Scamander tells them almost conversationally, another impossible fact to add to ever growing list. "These fellows lost their mother to a poacher, so I took them in. Isn't that right?" he asks the snake he's holding, and it bites at his finger. "Oi, no biting. Mummy's been too lax with you, haven't I? I suppose you are getting hungry. Let's get you something to eat then…"

"Mummy?" Modesty asks incredulously, leaning her elbows to the side of the nest while Credence quickly puts down the snake he was holding, not wanting to be bitten.

"Well," the man says and shrugs as he reaches for a glass jar full of squirming somethings. "Quite. They imprinted on me." He takes a handful of what look like cockroaches and then scatters them in the nest – and for a moment the Occamies turn into a squirming riot as they dash about after the bugs.

"They're more like birds than snakes in their behaviour," Mr. Scamander says and stands up with a slight stretch. "Shall we continue on?"

They meet Bowtruckles next and after that catch a glimpse of something called Marmite as it swims about the tree tops. They get introduced to the Doxies – one of whom tries to nest in Chastity's hair much to her disgust – and then the glittering bugs are named Billywigs. There's also gigantic _Dungbeetles_ – kept, apparently, just because it makes cleaning up the enclosures that much easier.

Then they come to the glacier habitat – and Mr. Scamander shows them the Obscurus.

"I told you about it, didn't I?" Mr. Scamander says, pointing his wand at the idly squirming mass of darkness, trapped inside a thin surface. It's like smoke in side a soap bubble. "About the other Obscurial I met in Sudan. This is her Obscurus – I captured it after she died."

Credence opens his mouth and closes it in a snap, his eyes wide. That's an _Obscurus_?

"That's the thing inside Credence?" Chastity asks in a whisper.

"Similar, but not exactly alike," Mr. Scamander says, lips pressed together in unhappy line. "This is only a small fraction of a true Obscurus. Credence's Obscurus is quite bit larger and more powerful. As it is, this one lost it's host and  cannot exist outside this bubble – if I break it, it will disperse."

Credence swallows and looks down. He remembers fighting against the containment in the subway and filling the entire space available, remembers spreading out to every corner, rushing across the tracks, up the walls. No, this little bit of shadow is nothing compared to that.

Mr. Scamander lifts the Obscurus up again, and out of reach. "Touching it can still hurt you, so please, keep your distance," he says. "It can't act on it's own, but it is still raw, chaotic magic."

"Right, of course," Chastity says, swallowing, and Credence almost jumps when he feels a hand squirming into is – Modesty, pressing against his side.

Mr. Scamander glances at them and nods. "Well, that's about all there is to see around here," he says and turns his wand in his hand awkwardly. "What do you think?"

Credence looks at him a little incredulously. What do they think? Was he supposed to have opinions about it? His mind is still stumbling with the concept that Magical Creatures are a real thing and that there is another _Obscurus_ and… he just can't keep up.

"It's… different," Chastity says after a awkward bit of silence.

Mr. Scamander eyes widen a little. "Oh," he says and looks down, looking dejected. "Right."

"It's not bad," Modesty says quickly and the man looks up awkwardly. "It's just…"

"Different," Credence murmurs.

The wizard looks at them, still looking a little unhappy. "Well. It will only be eight days until we make it to Britain," he says, and clears his throat. "I should stock up the pantry – excuse me…"

Credence looks after him awkwardly and then shares a guilty look with Chastity. Then, Modesty between them, then follow the man out of the chilly glacier habitat, leaving the inert Obscurus behind.

* * *

 

Mr. Scamander tries desperately to make them feel more at home, that much is obvious. He gives them time and doesn't pressure them at all – he even manages to bite back some of the magical knowledge he so casually spills out. He doesn't even talk about the Obscurus, though he does give Credence some worried looks when he thinks Credence can't see.

Mr. Scamander even makes food out of their view and brings it to table all done and ready to eat and it almost seems like he actually made it _normally_ – except they all know better and he only took about five minutes so the act doesn't actually fool anybody. It's edible, but still magic, and they're still eating it in such a magical place, so really…

Everything is still so awkward, more so as time passes. There's just so many things happening and yet not enough to quite take their minds off the reality they've now stepped in. The suitcase and everything in it is just too bizarre and unnatural – or at least, unnatural in terms they know and understand.

It doesn't help that Mr. Scamander himself is obviously at home there – especially so when he doesn't have to worry about them. When the man has his back turned, when he's taking care of the creatures or distracted by a bit of research or writing in the shed-part of the house, he loses the awkward demeanour and just relaxes. He becomes almost another man entirely, comfortable and confident and perfectly at ease with everything around him.

But then he notices Credence or his sisters and it all vanishes and his back tenses and then he's just as uneasy and awkward as they are.

If Credence isn't feeling like a prisoner, then he feels like an interloper instead, invading Mr. Scamander's home and private space, and neither feeling is exactly comfortable.

They tiptoe around each other in terrible, awkward dance of discomfort and Credence doesn't know how to fix it. Of all of them only Modesty seems to get used to the suitcase and living there – she takes no time at all coming to terms with it and relaxing. But even as time passes, something in the back of Credence's mind keeps recoiling at every evidence of magic.

And there is _nothing but_ here.

Chastity is probably the same. Once she's satisfied that no one is immediate danger in the suitcase, she starts spending less time there – and more up in the ship above, where things are normal. Credence joins her once in the cabin, but though it's _outside_ , it's far more cramped than the suitcase, the small cabin. The little round window, though it shows the view of the real outside world, just makes him feel more trapped.

"Do you think it will be different in England?" Chastity asks quietly.

"I don't know," Credence admits. He hopes it will but he doesn't know, he really doesn't.

"Maybe we'll get used to it," Chastity murmurs.

That's the mantra they live by. Maybe they'll get used to it. Give time and it will all become normal. Just wait a bit… and maybe it stops being so strange and upsetting.

Credence isn't sure. The more time goes by the more awkward it seems to get – he gets more awkward which in turn makes Mr. Scamander uneasy, which again makes Credence feel like he's intruding and… it just doesn't seem to be getting better, only worse.

If it goes on…

"Hey," Credence says. "Can you… try and get Modesty out of the suitcase for a bit?"

"Why?" Chastity asks.

"I… should talk to Mr. Scamander alone." He doesn't want to and can feel his face growing a little pale just at the thought of it, but if this goes on it will only get worse between all of them. And he's at the heart of it – he's the _reason_ for this. So he should try and… do something about it.

Chastity watches him for a moment, searching his eyes. "About the Obscurus?" she asks.

"I guess," Credence agrees.

"Alright," she says and takes a deep breath. "Yeah, alright."

* * *

 

Chastity arranges it for that evening, persuading Modesty out from her usual spot in the forest where she's often playing with the Occamies. Credence watches them go, Chastity giving him a look while Modesty frowns, and then the suitcase lid closes after them and he's alone with Mr. Scamander.

The wizard is sitting by the dining table. His research has slowly spread from the shed side of the room across to the dining room and now there are books and notes strewn about it. Credence can't say he minds – it makes the place feel a little less… artificial. In time he thinks Mr. Scamander will spread out his things all across the added space and it will feel more lived in and less like a stage for the terrible theatre act they're all unwillingly playing parts in.

"Mr. Scamander?" Credence asks and the man's head comes up from the books he'd been half buried in.

"Hm? Credence?" the man asks, at first looking bewildered and then, slowly, the awkwardness creeps in. "Can I... do something for you?"

Credence licks his lower lip, not sure how to start this, but he has to... try something. "Can you tell me about the Obscurus? Please?"

The man looks at him, his eyes widening a bit in astonishment. "Yes – yes, of course, um," he blinks and quickly looks at his papers and then stands up. "Let me just get my notes."

Credence sits down slowly, looking at the books and papers across the table – there's illustrations drawn in them, some of them messy charcoal sketches and others more artful depictions of some of the creatures in the suitcase. Mr. Scamander, though his methods are somewhat messy as far keeping notes go, is not half bad at drawing.

The man returns with a worn looking leather note book, with bits of notes and what look like photographs sticking out between the yellowed pages. He unbinds the strap around it and then leafs through the messy notebook until he gets to a page dominated by a messy charcoal drawing of the Obscurus – a mass of black strokes, consuming what looks like a hut.

"Right – where do you want to start?" the wizard asks.

"There are others?" Credence asks, because that's an easy one.

"There were many, once – back before Magic went into hiding, it was far more common than it is these days," Mr. Scamander starts and something about him relaxing into the explanation. Credence watches him, hanging onto every word even though the knowledge is terrible – but more than that, he hangs onto the way Mr. Scamander eases, his mannerism relaxing, his voice growing more confident.

It's not quite common ground. But maybe it's a start.


	6. Chapter 6

Credence makes an effort. It's… not as hard as he thought it would be.

It helps that Mr. Scamander seems as desperate to contribute something, somehow – desperate to help even though he isn't quite sure how. Talking about the Obcucurs and Obscurials and their history is a good start, especially since it illuminates so many things that Credence had been so long dark about. Like, why it happened, and why Mr. Graves had been so desperate to find him – or the Obscurial, unknowing it was him.

Because Obscurus has overwhelming destructive potential that is hard to hide.

"The theory went that Grindelwald wanted to reveal magic to Muggles – and New York, with it's popularity, with MACUSA and their recently tightened rules concerning muggles, was good prime candidate to try it," Mr. Scamander explains. "Though of course… it's hard to guess at the motivations of man like that."

Credence nods, frowning, thinking about it. Mr. Graves, Grindelwald… whichever. "Who is he anyway?" he asks. "It sounds like he has… history, beyond what happened."

"He does – he's fairly well known in Europe. Famous – or I suppose, infamous," Mr. Scamander says. "I can't say I am that well informed in the subject but I know as much as anyone who reads the papers. He promotes, very loudly and very publicly, a certain sort of political view – magical supremacy, the Greater Good of Wizard Kind… something like that. People like him, they think wizards shouldn't have to stay in hiding as we are."

Yes, Credence could remember that – in things Mr. Graves – Grindelwald – had told him. Had whispered to him in hushed, intimate murmurs, like secrets, like desires. _... and well all be free_. He thinks now that he heard a very different thing than what the man was actually saying.

He thinks he was probably meant to.

"Is he… right?" Credence asks slowly and glances up.

"Right, Grindelwald?" Mr. Scamander asks and looks away. "Some think he is, others don't. Personally I don't think it is as black and white as all that. The Statue of Secrecy that keeps the two world separate has it's benefits as well as it's drawbacks, and so would repealing it."

"And... what do you think?"

The wizard is quiet for a while. "I don't think anything lasts forever," he says quietly. "But I don't think the way Grindelwald is aiming to end the Secrecy it is the right way. Violence and war is a problem and never the solution."

Credence leans back a bit, not because of the words as much s the vehemence with which they're spoken. "Right," he says quietly. Right. Not the safest topic of conversation then. He wants to ask what about it, about what that kind of war would be like, what Mr. Gra – Grindelwad had actually been aiming to do… but he doesn't dare to.

"Reason Obscurials are so rare now is partly because of the Statue of Secrecy," Mr. Scamander says, glancing at him. "Hate for magic is rarer when the knowledge of it is harder to get. But it still happens."

Credence nods and looks down at the notebook on Obscurus and Obscurials. He searched for something else to ask, to turn the conversation – and his own thoughts – elsewhere. "How do you think I controlled it, before… before I forgot how to?"

Mr. Scamander folds his arms at that and sighs. "That's the question. You're utterly unique, Credence," he says and Credence almost recoils from the words. "You're both the oldest and the strongest Obscurial in recorded history. And that strength is key part of it, I reckon, but there has to be more. Problem is, I have no clue as to what it might be. Have you no idea…?"

Credence chews his lower lip, desperately trying to think of it. Eventually he just shakes his head.

"I suppose we need to try and untangle the Obliviation," the wizard murmurs.

"But… isn't it irreversible?" Credence asks quietly.

"It is, but Obliviation is rarely seamless," Mr. Scamander says. "Especially in cases like this, where whole thread of knowledge has been removed. It will leave holes in your knowledge and memory – like scars. And while, no, you cannot get back what was taken, you can take in the context from what remains and use it to deduce what is missing."

Credence frowns and looks up. "How?"

Mr. Scamander considers that for a moment. "Starting from beginning, I suspect," he says. "My theory is that all your knowledge of magic has been removed, from all of your remembered history. That will potentially include the very earliest bursts of accidental magic – and, I'm sorry to say it, but you probably did experience them, for your mother to have…"

He trails off, but Credence gets the meaning. For Mother to beat the magic out of him… there had to be magic in the first place. He's just forgotten.

Credence stares at the man desperately, shaking his head. "I can't," he says, his voice small.

The wizard looks at him for a difficult moment and then turns his gaze at the papers between them. "Of course not," he says and runs a hand over his eyes. He looks tired and sad when he looks up again. "I'll think of something else."

Credence nods and looks down again. "I – I don't want to be difficult," he says ashamedly.

"You're not difficult," Mr. Scamander says with a sigh. "The subject is tender and rightfully so. I am sorry, I don't mean to push you – I should not push you." He stands up and runs a hand over his neck, looking uncomfortable. "Don't take it to heart," he adds gently and then places his hand awkwardly on Credence's shoulder. "We have plenty of time go through it at your pace."

Credence is frozen, all of his attention on the hand on his shoulder. It's not in anyway a meaningful touch, just a throw away gesture of comfort, an awkward one at that, but he can't _breathe_. Even through the cloth of his vest and shirt, he can feel how warm Mr. Scamander's hand is. For a moment, he's not sure he can feel anything else.

The wizard falls quiet and moment later he draws his hand away, awkward and stilted. Credence draws a breath, almost to say something, he just doesn't know what, and Mr. Scamander clears his throat.

"I'll get started on dinner," he murmurs and walks away, leaving Credence staring after him with the arresting feel of the man's hand fading from his shoulder.

* * *

 

Credence makes an effort. It's easier now that he's started, now that he knows that Mr. Scamander will try and explain, trying his best to make it as easy as possible. Every so often the man will say things that still make Credence feel that yawning pit of unknown but the more he dares to ask and the more Mr. Scamander tells him, the easier it becomes to stomach it.

"Why is it that wizards use wands?" Credence asks, something he's quietly been wondering ever since he saw one in Mr. Gra – Grindelwald's hand. And especially after he saw the man do magic without. "In most books it's staffs wizards use, isn't it?"

"Staffs are a bit impractical," Mr. Scamander answers easily. "Wand you can shove in your pocket or up your sleeve when you don't need it but staff is hard to set aside without someone tripping over it."

"And… all wizards have them? They are necessary?"

"I wouldn't say necessary. Handy, certainly. It's a tool to focus and aim magic – to direct it exactly how you want it. You can do magic without one, but control is far easier with one."

And so forth. Credence stumbles over to think about what to ask and magic remains an uneasy concept, he still has a knee jerk reaction to it. But it is still better to know, he thinks, than not – and the more he does know, the less it seems like an _other_ thing.

Chastity and Modesty ease up too, listening to Mr. Scamander explain things. "What about spells?" Modesty would ask and then Chastity would ask, "How does it work, you making things out of nothing?" and so Mr. Scamander awkwardly tells them about spell theory and how spells are less about the words themselves but more the intention and expectation wizard himself puts in them – and the art of Conjuration and Transfiguration takes a whole evening.

Eventually, Mr. Scamander even dares to demonstrate magic to them. A simple levitation charm on a feather, to explain the spell, the use of a wand in directing the effect, how much easier it makes the whole thing to mutter a spell and point a wand as opposed to just forcing it mentally.

"Belief and use of tools is easier than mental concentration," the wizard explains. "The spell works how it does because I have been taught it does this and I learned believe it – and so it works for me. Have you ever heard of the Placebo Effect?"

Credence shakes his head, as does modesty, but Chastity frowns. "Isn't that about those sugar pills, about how fake medicine sometimes seems to work because people think it is real medicine?"

"Yes, exactly," Mr. Scamander agrees. "Human mind is extremely good at self delusion and belief and whole concept of spell craft is largely based on it. The magic is real, and wand makes guiding it much finer, and spell, belief, makes it do impossible things, because we believe."

"So it's faith," Chastity murmurs. "Magic is _faith_."

"Well, no, magic is magic and if someone tells you they know what _magic_ itself is, you can rest assured that they are lying – but spell work, the act of casting spells, that's largely done by belief," Mr. Scamander says.

"So you don't actually know what magic is?"

"No one does. That's why it's still to this day called _magic_ ," Mr. Scamander says apologetically. "Truth to the matter is, no one knows why it works this way. It just does."

Chastity scowls. "That's not a very satisfying answer."

"There are hundreds of magical philosophers in perfect agreement with you there," Mr. Scamander agrees with a little laugh and lowers his wand. The feather starts drifting downward. "But sadly, it's all we have."

"Hmph," Chastity mutters and folds her arms. Then she scowls in concentration. "There's… magical philosophy?" she asks slowly.

"I'll get you some books on it if you'd like, once we reach land," Mr. Scamander offers and catches the feather mid air. "Though I'm afraid Magical Philosphy is very different than muggle equivalent."

"How so?"

"Well, ever since the creation of Philosopher's Stone it's been more about the intrinsic quality of magic and immortality than what you'd know as philosophy," the man says which, of course, leads into the question of what was the Philosopher's stone and then rest of the lesson was about that, and then Alchemy – because wizards had Alchemy.

Credence however was stuck in the concept of _belief_. Magic worked because of _belief_ – or rather, spell craft did. And belief came from knowledge – because Mr. Scamander had been taught magic one way, he believe it that way…

What if his control over the Obscurus was like that? He'd learned something of magic, of the Obscurus, over years when he'd been young and then he'd believed in it… and so the Obscurus had remained unseen and unheard of. And then the Obliviation had taken away the knowledge and with it the belief…

"Is there a way to manufacture belief?" Credence asks quietly, more talking to himself than actually putting forth a honest question.

"No," Mr. Scamander answers regardless. "Belief is emotion – and emotions cannot be manufactured by magic, not honestly. They're always hollow and unnatural and they don't have the correct effect."

"So, no love potions?" Chastity asks wryly.

"Oh, there are _many_ varieties of love potions – and each end every one stops working the moment the percipient stops drinking the potion," Mr. Scamander denies, sounding quite wry himself. "And the side effects are always terrible."

* * *

 

Modesty starts helping Mr. Scamander with the animals. Unlike Chastity and Credence who still can't hide their slight unease, she is growing quickly comfortable in their new environment and she loves the animals. Or, more precisely, she loves the cuddly ones that she can pet and play with.

"I'll make sure she doesn't get hurt," Mr. Scamander promises them, when Credence struggles with objections and Chastity frowns with disapproval.

Thing is, there is little to actually object or disapprove. Mr. Scamander is very careful and watchful with the animals and always making sure Modesty know what to not do. Modesty herself is still wary regardless of her excitement and she trails after the wizard with increased confidence and enthusiasm. She likes it, she's _excited_ about it and it makes her look and act more and more like the kid she is.

It's impossible to say no in light of that. If anything, Credence is jealous of her, of the ease with which she takes to it all, how quickly and easily she is shedding the fear and nervousness. Soon, it will be as if magic has always been part of her life, like there is nothing unusual about it.

In the mean while, it still makes Credence's heart pound in alarm, in part excited thrill and breathless terror, to see Mr. Scamander take out his wand to cast a spell.

Chastity is probably the same. She prods and pokes at magic and Mr. Scamander's knowledge, forever suspicious like she's looking for the hidden strings and secret mechanisms. But she doesn't object Modesty's excitement either.

"Do you wish you'd… that you had become a wizard?" she asks Credence once, while they watch Mr. Scamander and Modesty examine something by the Graphorn enclosure – a foot print, possibly.

Credence doesn't answer for a moment, appreciating the sheer complexity of that question. That he has magic, but isn't wizard, that he could have been one but hadn't been allowed to. The increasingly firm suspicion that the decision is well out of his hands now. He won't be a wizard like Mr. Scamander. Somehow, they all know it.

"That'd be a completely different person from me," Credence says, because he's been thinking about it too much lately – what makes a person and what the Obliviation had made him, how badly it changed things for him. "It wouldn't be me."

Chastity looks at him and then away. "I guess not."

"Do you think…" Credence starts, frowning, tiring to put the concept into words. "Do you think I really _could_ control the Obscurus before I forgot? That it was a conscious thing I could just… do?"

"Well, yeah?" Chastity says and peers up at the fake sky thoughtfully. "It never came out. I never noticed anything – I've been thinking about it, and I don't think I've been Obliviated… but I can't remember any incidents. Not even something anyone mentioned. So you must've had control. Either that or you weren't Obscurus before and we know you were."

"Do we?" Credence frowns.

"Well, you're not a wizard, right?" she asks. "And it happens when you're young, right, before you have the understanding to try and control magic?"

Credence frowns and nods thoughtfully. That was the Obscurial theory anyway – it develops somewhere between the natural outbursts of accidental childhood magic, and when a child starts learning how to control their own actions. It doesn't happen to older kids because by that time they already have the mental capacity to control themselves…

So he had to have control. It was a real thing, it really happened, it's a _fact_. Now he just has to learn to actually believe it.

"Do you think we should start helping Mr. Scamander out with the animals too?" Chastity asks, rocking back and forth a little where she sits. "Do you think it might make it easier?"

"Maybe," Credence says and stares at Modesty, staring up at Mr. Scamander with her face all but glowing. She preens – Mr. Scamander must've said something nice to her.

His stomach clenches a little and he looks away.

"I don't think I'm very good with animals, though," he murmurs, lifting his legs up and leaning his elbows on his knees. "They don't seem to like me much." Mostly they hissed at him – only the Occamies seemed to like him but the Occamies liked everyone who brought them food. Even the Mooncalfs shied away from him.

"Mr. Scamander says it's because they can tell you're nervous and ill at ease," Chastity says. "So they act accordingly. You just need to be more confident."

Credence sighs. "Well, you do it then, since you're know so much."

She makes a face. "Maybe I will," she mutters, but hesitates.

"Yeah, I didn't think so," Credence mutters back and she elbows him sharply in rebuttal. "Stop it."

"You stop it," she answers sullenly, and together they watch how Mr. Scamander and Modesty continue on to the next habitat. Chastity sighs. "I kind of wish I could be like her. Still young enough to just… do that sort of thing without worrying about a thing."

"Yeah," Credence agrees with a sigh. "Me too."

* * *

 

Chastity musters up her courage the next day – their sixth on board the ocean liner. That morning when Mr. Scamander gets ready to fed the animals their breakfast, she sidles along to him and Modesty and offers to give them a hand carrying things. It obviously doesn't come easy for her… but she still does it. And the incandescent smile Mr. Scamander gives her is answer enough.

Credence watches them go with his stomach turning and after a moment of terrible indecision he hurries after them, trailing behind and just watching – and maybe he makes it worse because Mr. Scamander glances at him every so often worriedly, but…

He wants to be part of it. He wants to be at ease with magic. He just doesn't know how to get there.

"Credence?" Mr. Scamander asks after a while. "Is something wrong?"

Credence, realising that he's frowning at them, looks away quickly and shakes his head. "Can I help?" he asks awkwardly.

"Of course you can," the wizard says, awkward and relieved. "Come here – can you grab that sack for me?"

The sack is dried fruit and grain for the Erumpent, and Credence carries it awkwardly all the way to the mouth of the enclosure. There Mr. Scamander takes it from him – and it's then Credence notices something that he thinks has maybe been going on for a while.

Mr. Scamander makes very carefully sure to not touch him when he takes the sack of feed from him. He all but _strategies_ it, actually examining the way Credence is holding the sack to see where he can take it so that any potential contact is carefully avoided.

Credence blinks after him when the wizard turns to carry the sack to the manger in the enclosure, and in the back of his mind he thinks of Mr. Scamander, standing on the other side of the table, keeping Chastity or Modesty between them, never within arms reach. He hadn't even noticed, hadn't thought about it but…

"There, that should tide her over until evening," Mr. Scamander says, turning back with empty sack in hand. Now that Credence knows, he can't miss the way the wizard goes _around_ him rather than past him, always couple of feet in between.

Mr. Scamander offers him an awkward smile. "The Cockatrice next – come on."

Credence nods slowly, staring after him – and feels queerly like he's standing there surrounded by a bubble, like the Obscurus in the glacier habitat… untouchable.

Credence trails after the wizard and his sisters, suddenly feeling chilled to his core.


	7. Chapter 7

Mr. Scamander is afraid of him. There might be other explanations but for the life of him, Credence can't think of them. The man isn't avoiding touching Modesty or Chastity – he even holds Chastity's hand once, holding it out and open with palm full of feed for the Billywigs to take from her hand, showing her how to do it. And Modesty gets the occasional incredibly awkward but overall affectionate pat on the head.

It's only Credence the man avoids, so it can't be just awkwardness or unease with people though the wizard certainly seems to have both of those things in spare. He's trying, at least, with Modesty and Chastity. But not Credence.

It's like taking a physical blow, to realise it and for all the blows Credence has taken in his life, it's this one he doesn't know how to handle. Mr. Scamander was supposed to be the one person not afraid of him – he was supposed to be the one person who understood him. Not… not this. This wasn't supposed to happen.

Did it mean that the man has deemed him beyond help? Is it only matter of time before the Obscurus breaks loose again, is there no hope for him ever controlling it again? Sure, the Obscurus is there, Credence can still feel it under his skin, a living, nearly breathing violence, but it hasn't been overwhelming like before. What happened at the subway weakened it, and Credence could keep it down. He thought… he thought he had the time.

Did Mr. Scamander know something he hadn't shared, had he figured something out – is he just waiting now, keeping careful distance, close enough and far enough to knock him down if ever comes to that…?

"Credence?"

He looks up sharply to see Mr. Scamander there, standing with a jug of something in hand. The man is frowning a little, looking concerned – or maybe worried, bothered by whatever he sees on Credence's face. "Is everything okay?"

"Fine," Credence answers automatically and looks away. "Just fine."

He thinks his knees shake a little when he walks away, but Mr. Scamander doesn't follow him. That… probably says something.

* * *

 

Credence goes to see the other Obscurus. He has avoided doing that since the beginning. The thing turns his stomach, just seeing it there, inside it's shielded bubble, alive and yet in some way dead. A terrible moment of another's terrible life, captured in a shell. Sometimes, the knowledge that Mr. Scamander had _kept it_ even after the host's death makes him a little ill.

Of course he knows the man is studying it – more and more these days. Sometimes they can see the wizard going into the glacier habitat late at night when they're getting ready for bed and Credence knows he's trying to glean some sort of solution out of it. It's kept not out of malice or any sort of twisted urge to collect it – but for study.

And yet it is still a strange, living fragment of a dead girl – a girl, who was like him. Girl, whom Mr. Scamander couldn't save.

And now the man had figured out he couldn't save him either, probably.

It's a visceral feeling, to look at the other Obscurus. Something in Credence almost resonates with it– the Obscurus inside him recognising it's likeness, maybe, or maybe that's just him. It makes him feel oddly hollow and fragile, like his skin is stretched over a yawning pit and any hint of pressure could split him over and let the shadow inside spill out.

Was Credence going to end up like this Obscurus – a shadowy shred of what he was preserved in a bubble? Well, at least he'd have company, though looking at the thing now he rather doubts he will know that. The Obscurus in the bubble doesn't have a will or mind – or soul. It knows nothing, it feels nothing – really, it _is_ nothing.

He'd hoped it would go differently here, he'd hoped that magic could… could help, but…

Maybe… that wouldn't be so bad.

To not feel anything.

* * *

 

Credence's hands are clumsy as he struggles with his vest, frowning down as the buttons refuse to co-operate. Not really his vest, is it – it's Mr. Scamander's vest. Most of his clothes now come from the man. Credence hasn't worn his old sweater since beginning. It's still somewhere, probably, but it's so black. He likes the light brown better, though the sweater didn't have buttons which he really wouldn't have minded now

It's so hot now and why are buttons so small anyway?

He sways a little where he sits and shakes his numb hand to try and get feeling back into his fingers and after a moment he finally gets enough of the buttons open to get out of the vest. It takes some squirming and he just ends up hotter and then it falls and he takes a deep breath – yes, better.

He can breathe again.

"I bet you n't hot," he mumbles to the squirming shadow above him sullenly. Obscurus don't feel nothing, lucky thing. It doesn't answer either because Obscurus don't have to explain themselves– they just are, not feeling or thinking or knowing or… or anything. It's not really anything.

It would be nice not to be anything.

Credence sways again and has to take support on the floor – no, the ground – no, it's not that either. His fingers sink into the cold stuff and he sighs – oh that feels pretty nice, doesn't it. It sort of tingles. His fingers hurt a little and the coolness is making that go away and –

There's a noise, a shrill ringing wail.

Scowling Credence looks up. The white sky flashes red above him – why is it doing that, it didn't do that before. And sky isn't supposed to flash, is it? It's so noisy too.

"Stop it," he mutters at the ringing, flashing sky and then curls into himself, trying to shield himself from the noise. He thinks of – of moments, spell fire and people shouting at him, Mr. Graves and the noise of the subway, the dinner bell at the church, this is all of that and worse, louder, noisier – "Stop it, stop it, stop it –"

"Credence!"

Credence whimpers.

"Merlin's _pants_ – what are you – Credence," Mr. Scamander is there suddenly, falling to his knees in front of him. "Credence – Credence, look at me, look at me Credence, please – "

Credence looks at him and he can feel his face, stiff and clumsy, twisting into what is probably a pathetic pout. Mr. Scamander looks horrified – is the Obscurus coming out again, is – "Am I breaking up again?" Credence slurs and then frowns – why is he slurring? And the sky is still screaming at him. "s'loud…"

Mr. Scamander shakes his head, still looking horrified – and then, without warning, Credence is lifting up, up, up from the floor, into the air. He twists clumsily, confused, trying to grab hold of gravity – the sky goes quiet and Mr. Scamander walks beside him in long, hasty strides. It takes a moment, but Credence eventually figures out that he's floating, like a feather.

He thinks he sees a glimpse of Chastity's face, looking alarmed and confused – but then they're in the bathroom, he's in the bathtub and Credence jerks with surprise as he's suddenly doused with water.

"I am putting a _shield_ on that place," Mr. Scamander murmurs in frustration as he aims his wand and the _hot, hot, oh god, it's scalding_ water rushing out of the tip of the wand and at Credence. "What ever even possessed you to go there, to stay there for that long without proper coat or anything –"

Credence recoils, shivering, trying to shield himself from the water but Mr. Scamander is relentless – it douses him through out, soaking through his clothes and filling the bathtub until he's sitting hip deep in water.

"Mr. Scamander what are you _doing_?" Chastity asks in alarm.

"I am _trying_ to warm up your brother after he gave himself bloody hypothermia," the man almost growls, adding more and more water – it goes up to Credence's ribs now, to his chest. Then the water stops and so does Credence – because suddenly there are hands on each side of his face.

Mr. Scamander looks at him, so serious and so angry, his face so close Credence could count the freckles if he could _think_ but he can't because there is palms on his cheeks and they're scalding. "Credence, what were you _thinking_?" the man demands.

"You're touching me," Credence whispers.

And of course the man stops, yanking his hands away quickly and leaving Credence leaning against nothing. He almost stumbles against the bathtub's edge, but then there is a hand – not on his cheek this time, but against his chest, pressing against the wet cloth there, and it's so hot against him that it almost burns.

"W-why am I so cold?" Credence whispers in horror when he realises finally that he is – he's _freezing_.

"Because you spend who even knows how long in the glacier habitat – which is well below freezing temperatures," Mr. Scamander says in voice that shakes and he sounds scared – scared, not angry – as he pushes Credence back, to lean against the end of the bathtub. "You have early stage of hypothermia – your body temperature is below the optimal. I am trying to warm you – so just stay in the water."

The water, which felt scalding before, isn't actually that warm now that Credence thinks about it – it's barely room temperature but against his frozen fingers and numb toes it feels boiling hot. Credence shudders and then sinks little below the water, confused and – and Mr. Scamander's hand is still on his chest and he looks down at it with confusion.

Mr. Scamander has long fingers – the water distorts them, making them seem even longer. He has freckles there too.

When the pressure extorted by the hand eases and the palm lifts, Credence quickly puts both hands over it, keeping it there – keeping it pressed against the centre of his chest. Then he looks up at the wizard who is staring at him, still alarmed and still scared but confused too.

"Mr. Scamander?" Chastity asks, sounding scared.

"Hypothermia," the man says, swallowing. "Is a vicious, quiet killer that sneaks up on you and confuses you – and I quite honestly did not think to consider it a danger here. I'll be sealing the glacier habitat after this – no one will be able to go there."

"Is he – is Credence going to be okay?"

"He'll be fine," the man says, meeting Credence's eyes and then looking down at the hand Credence is still keeping to himself. He frowns a little and then looks backwards. "Could you get your brother some clothes, please?"

Chastity hesitates. "Credence?"

"It's - it's okay," Credence says, shuddering. "I'm sorry – it's okay, I'm fine."

Chastity hesitates but eventually she goes and Credence is alone with Mr. Scamander who looks between him and the hand Credence is clutching.

"What were you thinking?" the man whispers and he sounds scared.

"I – you –" Credence tries to say, but he can't. He's confused and then, embarrassed, and he can't stop himself from clutching onto the man's wrist like it's his last lifeline. "I didn't think – I think I wanted to be alone, I didn't think the glacier was dangerous."

The wizard lets out a breath of frustration and his fingers flex against the wet cloth. "I suppose hypothermia isn't something you have ever had to worry about, and I didn't think to warn you," he murmurs in frustration. "But why didn't you leave when you got cold?"

Credence hands his head, the embarrassment becoming full blown shame. "I didn't think," he murmurs, staring at his knees – he's still fully clothed. Except he isn't, because he stripped off the vest in the glacier habitat. He's not sure now why he'd done that.

Mr. Scamander is quiet for a while, just watching him. "Is there something wrong?" he asks quietly. "Is something bothering you, or…"

Credence hesitates, his lips twisting – oh, god, he's going to cry. And he's still holding the man's wrist. He's _pathetic_. "A-are you afraid of me?"

Mr. Scamander leans back a little, almost recoiling. "What?" he asks in astonishment.

"Are you? Do you think – am I beyond help?" Credence whispers and squeezes his eyes shut against whatever he might see on the man's face. "A-am I going to become like the other Obscurus?"

"No – of course you're not beyond help – Credence, there hadn't been any sign of your Obscurus in _days_ ," Mr. Scamander says quickly, sounding confused. "What makes you think –?"

"You won't touch me. You'll touch Chastity and Modesty, you even pat Modesty on the head and everything – but you avoid getting anywhere near me," Credence mutters and tightens his fingers on the man's wrist when it jerks in his hold, trying to pull away. "Does it hurt to touch me, or – or do you just –"

"What? I don't – Credence, I thought you didn't like being touched," Mr. Scamander says, confused.

Credence looks up at that. "What?"

They stare at each other and it's hard to say which one is more confused. It's almost a relief when Chastity clears her throat by the doorway. "I got the clothes?" she offers quietly, looking between them with her eyes wide, clutching onto folded pair of trousers and Credence's dark sweater along with a clean dress shirt.

"Thank you Chastity," Mr. Scamander says faintly, his eyes barely flickering away from Credence. "Could you please give us a moment?"

"I, uh… yeah, sure," she says awkwardly. "I'll just leave these here?"

She sets the clothes down on the floor and then backs away from the bathroom. Moment later, the door closes after her.

Credence swallows, staring at the wizard. Mr. Scamander's fingers flex against his chest and then he presses his palm flat against him before shifting. He sits on the edge of the bathtub, looking down with a look of terrible realisation on his face.

"Oh, I do misread people so easily," he murmurs and then he leans down.

Credence's breath escapes his lungs in a shaky sigh as the man's other hand comes to his cheek and their foreheads press together. It's warm, all of it, almost unbearably hot – the man's palm feels like it was just against fire and even his forehead feels hot and the man's breath against Credence's skin almost scalds. Credence leans into it all with shaky breath and he doesn't know why the man's doing it – he just doesn't want him to stop.

Mr. Scamander finally pulls his hand from Credence's chest, but only to run it over his neck to cradle the back of his head. "Shh, it's okay – I'm sorry, I didn't realise, I'm sorry…"

"Didn't – what?" Credence mumbles, confused and enthralled in equal measure. "I – I don't understand."

"All social creatures crave affection," Mr. Scamander murmurs and presses his nose against Credence's cheek. "And humans are terribly social. I'm so sorry, I've been terribly amiss with you, haven't I?"

Credence thinks he should maybe be offended – the man is thinking him in terms of _creatures_ , he even nuzzles into him the exact same way he does with the Graphorns and the Nundu… but Credence can't really muster the presence of mind to really be bothered by it. The man is all but hugging him now, holding him close, and really, Credence wouldn't complain about bit of it even if he wanted to. And he really, really doesn't want to.

He's probably going to be embarrassed about all of it later, when his mind catches up with him, but right now all he can do is lean into the man and bask in everything he's being given.

"No more glacier, alright?" Mr. Scamander hums. "And if something bothers you, please, just tell me about it. I want to help you."

"Mm," Credence answers, a bit bleary but vaguely affirmative.

"Good," the man says and his fingers scratch Credence behind his ear – like you would a dog. Credence can't be bothered to mind that either.

* * *

 

Mr. Scamander is true to his word – the glacier habitat is not only closed off for them in the future but he also lifted the temperature there. Due to the preservation charms on the ice it wouldn't melt the glacier itself, but it would keep further ventures into hypothermia from happening.

Credence spends most of the day embarrassedly not meeting anyone's eyes. He doesn't think Modesty was told – somehow she slept through the warning alarm Mr. Scamander had set on apparently every habitat just in case of any of the creatures coming into danger. But even she gives him suspicious looks and Chastity just pointedly stares at him.

Mr. Scamander doesn't – but what he does is maybe a little bit worse. He won't stop _touching._

When ever Credence is at arms reach, the man will not-quite-casually run a hand over his back or his arm – once he even runs his fingers through Credence's hair which he leans into embarrassingly. Where before Mr. Scamander avoided any chances of touching, he now never lets one pass him by, and every casual brush in turns into opportunity to pet him. And it really is _petting_. He touches the animals the same way.

Credence would be more self-conscious about it if he didn't so desperately like it. It's impossible not to lean into every touch, when they're so freely given. When they come without compulsions.

Mr. Graves' touch was impossible not to lean into either, but it was complicated, it always came with conditions. Mr. Scamander dispenses his out like it's just another natural part of the care he provides, like food, like water, touch is simply essential every day necessity, rather than rare precious gift to be given sparingly and begrudgingly.

And Credence soaks it up like a sponge.

Chastity watches him for a while with a frown her face, glancing down on Mr. Scamander's hand on Credence's shoulder or up in his hair. She folds her arms and tilts her head, thoughtful and little bit judgemental. Modesty doesn't even notice, as she holds onto Mr. Scamander's other hand, tugging him along to explain this or that bit of trivia about the Mooncalfs or the Cockatrice or any number of the other creatures

In the end, no one says anything and Credence is desperately relieved about it.

"We'll be arriving in London early tomorrow," Mr. Scamander tells them, even as he absently rubs his hand over Credence's shoulders, fingers occasionally stopping to run along his spine. "Once we've made landfall, it'll be fine for you to come out of the case if you'd like, Credence. Once we're through customs no one will bother to check your passport or identification so as long as we don't do anything noticeable."

"Speaking from experience?" Chastity asks with a sort of wry curiosity.

"There… might have been occasions," Mr. Scamander says awkwardly and clears his throat. "Once there, I will get us rooms at a Muggle hotel and then we'll consider our options."

"Like what?"

"Well… I suppose that depends entirely on how you like London. And how fast my brother tracks me down," Mr. Scamander mutters with a slight frown and looks at Credence. "In any case, I suspect we'll be staying put for a while, and depending on where we will be staying, we'll figure out the rest from there."

Credence nods, leaning in a little. "That sounds fine."

"Can we still come to the suitcase?" Modesty asks worriedly. "And what about the animals, will they stay here or will they come out too?"

"That depends on where we'll be staying, but they'll probably stay here, in their habitats – and yes, you can still come down here," Mr. Scamander says. "The creatures will still require care, even when we're on land, and I certainly don't mind the help."

Modesty beams at that and Mr. Scamander grins back, still a little shy but honest. His fingers creep up the back of Credence's neck in the mean time and he scratches at the short hair, not much unlike he does with the Niffler. Credence leans into it, helpless.

"Alright," Chastity says, staring at them and then shaking her head with a sort of long suffering sigh. "I guess that's a plan then."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that was horribly cliche and dumb...


	8. Chapter 8

There are few things Theseus has came to expect from his brother.

Firstly, the unexpected thing. There is always The One Unexpected thing that really no one could've expected. Once it was Newt joining the war effort out of the blue. Another time it was finding out that his brother had, completely off hand and probably without even noticing it himself, revolutionised the whole of Undetectable Expansions Charms. Then there was the Nundu. No one expected the Nundu.

Secondly, more of the same old. For all that Newt changes, he never really changes, and there is a frustrating sort of comfort in that. He remains awkward and uneasy and tries to slide out of any and all social commitments and meetings and has to be physically dragged back home for a dinner with their parents. And then he either avoids mentioning anything about what he actually had done while away – or the dam breaks and he drowns them in creature trivia which eventually tips over from mildly interesting trickle to alarming flood.

And thirdly, he'll probably vanish at some point and then they'll hear he's in Brazil or something, running after giant snakes or whatever else that catches his interest this time and then they wouldn't see or hear for him for months on end.

Pepper all that with a lot awkward squirming, Newt's nose buried perpetually in a book and few mischievous new tricks Newt would at some point display because he thinks scaring the wits out of someone is fun, and you have Newt Scamander coming home in a nutshell. Rinse and repeat.

Honestly, Theseus loves seeing his brother again – with emphasis on the _again_ – because all of it. The unexpected, the old familiar and the eventual escape, it makes Newt an exciting breath of fresh air… and then ultimately makes them all a little bit relieved when he eventually flounces off again.

And having heard that his brother was on his way back home, Theseus has started betting himself on what the unexpected thing would be this time – and how long it would take before Newt would sneak off again like thief in the night.

Something terribly dangerous, and less than two weeks are his current estimates.

* * *

 

"Er, hullo there," Theseus says awkwardly, staring at the young thing standing in front of the door of what was supposes to be his brother's room. Muggle hotel again because Newt couldn't do anything so sensible as getting a room from the Leaky Cauldron or, even more sensible, _home_. "I think I might have the wrong room…"

Theseus leans back a little  - but no, the room number is quite right, 301 in golden numbers above the dark door very clear. "Er," he says again. "Might there be a man by the name of Newt Scamander here?"

The little girl stares at him expressionlessly with dark eyes for a moment and then leans back. "Mr. Scamander! There's a wizard here!"

"Don't shout _wizard_ in a Muggle hotel, Modesty," Newt's voice comes from inside, amused and then there's the man himself, in waist coat and rolled up sleeves, looking rumbled as usual. He freezes. "Theseus."

"Hello brother," Theseus answers, looking him over and then looking down at the little girl – at the way Newt's hand had gone over her shoulder. Human contact, and all without threats or torture. She'd be the unexpected thing, then. " _Well_ now," Theseus murmurs and feels a smile spread over his face.

"Oh no," Newt murmurs under his breath and squeezes the girl's shoulder. "Modesty, would you go warn your brother, please?"

"A _brother_ too?" Theseus asks, his smile breaking into a delighted grin.

"Modesty, please," Newt says hastily, herding the now wide eyed and curious girl backwards and then pulling the door shut behind her, leaving Theseus alone with his brother in the hotel hall.

"Are we adopting _people_ now?" Theseus asks. "Have you send word to Mother and Father – they'll be delighted, you know, and furious, but ultimately delighted that you're finally  –"

"I haven't adopted anyone," Newt says and then he looks guilty and confused. "And don't say _finally_ there's nothing _finally_ about this. I might have – no, that isn't it at all – I took three – "

" _Three_? There's three of them?"

"Stop it," Newt grumbles, looking like he very much would like to shove at Theseus like he used to do when they were young. "They needed help," he says, very carefully.

"Don't they all?" Theseus asks, but with his amusement dampening a little. Needing help – and needing help from especially _Newt_ could mean any number of things. Some of them downright terrible. "Alright – werewolves?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Newt sighs.

"Vampires then," Theseus grins, but eyes him carefully.

"It's daytime."

"What is it then?" Theseus asks. "And are they safe to be around Muggles?"

The look Newt gives him is downright forbidding. "They are perfectly safe," he says. "And you will not insinuate otherwise. Modesty and her elder sister Chastity are Muggles. Their brother – "

"So it's the _brother_ – " Theseus murmurs victoriously. "Something's wrong with him then."

"He is the victim of terrible abuse at the hands of woman who pretended to be his mother," Newt says, almost coldly. "He asked for my help. That is all."

Theseus stops at that, taken back a little – less by the words and more by the tone of voice. Newton sounded down right frosty – and protective. That, while not entirely new side of Newt, was quite new in context like this. "You're never interested in people unless they're _different_ ," Theseus says slowly. "You can't blame me for assuming."

Newt presses his lips together for a moment and sighs. "He's an Obscurial."

"I _knew_ it!" Theseus snaps victoriously and then stops. "Oh," he says and then can't for the life of him think of what else to say.

Another Obscurial, and so soon – when the previous one had made Newt all but bury himself afterwards. It had taken extremely dangerous and extremely rare creature to get Newt out of the gloom he'd fallen into, and honestly Theseus had been wondering if it would leave permanent scars on Newt – he'd assumed it would, actually. Another one, now…

"Is he -?" Theseus asks carefully.

"I'm not going to let another die," Newt says and shakes his head. "He's… different."

Of course he'd be different. He had Newt all but _growling_ at his own brother, he had to be down right miraculous and unique.

"He's also… dead as far as anyone know," Newt adds, not meeting his eye.

And then it clicks in place and Theseus almost groans. The papers – the ICW meeting in – "You've been in New York, haven't you? That was the Obscurus, tearing the city apart?" he asks, running a hand over his face and already feeling the headaches coming on.

Newt clears his throat. "He's better now," he offers awkwardly.

"Right," Theseus says and looks at him seriously. Newt squirms and fiddles with his fingers, picking at the cuticles – but eventually he meets his eye. "Are you _sure_?" Theseus asks seriously. "Newwie are you _sure_ it's safe?"

Newt's lips tighten and he nods – his gaze is steady. "I'm sure," he says, firm.

Theseus holds his gaze until he's absolutely sure this isn't one of those times when Newt is convinced against all evidence – which has happened before – and that he actually _believes_ what he says. His brother's gaze remains steady, even when the awkwardness of prolonged eye contact eventually makes him squirm.

"Alright, I believe you," Theseus says slowly and Newt lets out a sigh of relief. "So, that's the unexpected thing."

"Not this again," Newt mutters.

"Do when can we expect you to sneak off?" Theseus asks with a shake of his head and faint smile. "Just so that I can plan our dinner back at home accordingly. Wouldn't want you to skip again."

"Actually, I was thinking of renting a flat for… say, a year to begin with," Newt says, tugging at his bowtie. "Somewhere in London, though depending on how the kids like it, though the countryside might be better option actually."

Theseus stares. "Alright," he says slowly. "That's… new."

"The girls need to go to school," his brother explains earnestly.

"That's _very_ new," Theseus says and frowns with confusion. "Newt, what in Merlin's name?"

His brother coughs awkwardly and nods towards the hotel room. "So, ah… would you like to meet the Barebones?"

* * *

 

The Barebone siblings, whom Newt has all but _adopted_ at this point, come in varying shapes and sizes and levels of suspicion.

There's little Modesty who has one of Newt's creatures – the Bowtruckle – climbing her braids. She's curious and has almost unnerving depth to her eyes, and a smile that's toeing the line of _creepy_. She hangs onto Newt's every word, and occasionally onto his arm, and Theseus can already tell separating that girl from Newt would take effort and a half.

Chastity is around fifteen, and sharp as a whipcord judging by her expression. She looks Theseus up and down and makes him feel oddly under dressed in his fine muggle suit and coat, and then she compares him to Newt with few thoughtful glances – and, somehow, Theseus is fairly sure he's been found _very_ poor comparison indeed.

And then there is Credence.

Credence, whom Newt tucks under comfortably his arm as he explains how he met the three in New York. And he's not a little boy like Theseus expected, not a kid of eight or nine like the last Obscurial… he's a young man, no younger than _twenty_.

"…I suppose I'll get paperwork and whatnot for you as well, Credence, but it might have to be under a different name," Newt says, looking at the pale young man and idly tucking a stray bit of dark hair in the young man's severe haircut back in place, a move of casual intimacy that has Theseus staring at his brother incredulously.

Credence Barebone leans into Newt's palm, his eyes low lidded. "That's alright, I don't mind," he murmurs and Newt smiles, stroking a thumb over his cheek.

Theseus idly pinches his wrist and the sharp tug of pain sadly shatters any hope that this is some sort of dream. "You know," he says slowly and runs a hand over his face. "You really shouldn't be talking about things like that in front of an _Auror_."

"He's Auror?" Chastity asks sharply.

"Like Mr. Gra - Grindelwald?" Credence asks, his head lifting and his eyes growing sharper with worry.

"Like Tina, rather," Newt says and looks at them. "And Grindelwald wasn't really an Auror."

Theseus' hand drops. "Newt," he says faintly. " _What_?"

Newt blinks. "Didn't it make it to the papers then?"

"There was something about Grindelwald being sighted in New York, but…" Theseus frowns. "As far as I know, he's in Germany right now – what the bloody hell have you been doing?"

"Germany," Newt says and straightens up and the young man at his side goes tense. "He was captured by the MACUSA last I heard? He was impersonating one of their Aurors for – I don't even know how long. What do you mean he's in _Germany_?"

Theseus shakes his head. "He had a rally just the other day, it was all over the papers," he says slowly. "He was captured by the MACUSA? I haven't heard anything about that. Are you sure…?"

"I was _there_ , Theseus," Newt says. "And I have bruises to prove it – how can he be…" he trails off and looks at the young man. "Credence," he says softly. "It's alright."

The young man's fingers are curled against Newt's side, wringing the cloth of his waistcoat tightly. "I thought he was in prison," Credence says anxiously. "He's _supposed_ to be in prison."

Newt licks his lower lip. "He doesn't know you're still alive – and we're going to keep it that way. Credence – Credence, listen to me. He doesn't know you're still alive," he says, taking the young man's chin in his hand. "Look at me, please. It's okay, I swear, it's okay…"

Theseus stares at them with a frown and then looks at the two sisters. Chastity is watching Newt and Credence with a frown while the younger girl is scowling at Theseus. "Are you lying?" she demands to know.

"No, no – I can get you a newspaper to prove it, picture taken just the other day," Theseus says, glancing at Newt. "I take it you… met the man, then."

"He made Credence destroy things," Modesty says. "And wanted him for something. To destroy more things, probably."

"Because Credence is strong and would make a good weapon and he wanted to start a war," Chastity says and turns her eyes on Theseus. "I think you should leave now."

Theseus opens his mouth to argue, but then looks at Newt. Newt is stroking Credence's hair now, smiling at him gently as the young man struggles to control his breathing. It's all at once impossibly tender – and somehow dangerous.

"Yes, quite," Theseus says and stands up. "Newt – I'll…"

"I'll send a word," Newt says and glances at him. "And Theseus – no one can know Credence is here and still alive. No one."

"Of course," Theseus nods, a little awkward now and isn't that a chance of pace, him awkward while Newt is the one being all… _social_. "You're going to have to tell Mother and Father though."

Newt makes a face and shakes his head and then his attention is all on Credence again. Theseus nods, satisfied that his brother understood. "I'll just see myself out then."

Newt doesn't answer, too busy with his young man and shaking his head Theseus leaves. He's followed the entire way out the door by Chastity's narrow eyes and Modesty's silent observation and how like Newt to adopt such dangerous people?

* * *

 

Theseus spends a couple of days to figure out what in Merlin's name actually happened in New York and really, it all could be summed up as _another MACUSA cover-up_.

There was Obscurial – Credence – and it was covered up. There was a scandal – their Chief of Magical Security was kidnapped and replaced by a Dark Wizard for months on end – and it was covered up. That self same Dark Wizard – Grindelwald – escaped capture mere hours after he'd been taken in… and it was covered up.

Damn MACUSA. They are so conscious about their political appearance and pretending to be as strong as their muggle counterparts that they never can tell a story straight. Better for the world to never know anything happened at all than for them to know how poor MACUSA's security really is, it seems. Never mind the fact that Grindelwald's months at the MACUSA explained so many things about the past half a year.

No wonder the bastard has been so quiet – he'd been busy in New York. And here in Old World they'd been tearing at their hair figuring out what he was up to.

None of it changes things now – though who knew what Grindelwald had gleaned from MACUSA and how many people he'd managed to convert inside the Magical Congress. They'd have to keep an eye on MACUSA and their people, especially if those people join the task force in Europe, but aside from that there isn't much they could do.

Grindelwald is back in Germany, and fast at work recruiting more people to his ridiculous excuse of a political cause. All eyes are back on him, and it isn't as if they can observe him any more than they already are.

Theseus has more in his hands with Newt – who, true to his word, has gotten an flat in London for himself and the mostly-Muggle family he's adopted. How he'd done it and who he'd bribed and with _what money_ Theseus has no idea, but somehow Newt has also gotten the aforementioned paperwork for his young man – and that isn't all.

The whole family is somewhat transformed when Theseus comes around with a housewarming presents. The girls have what look like brand new clothes – lot of them blue, apparently they're taking after Newt there. Credence has new clothes too, and apparently Newt has inspired him too since he has left behind dark greys for golden browns. That's not the only change either.

"Hair raising potion?" Theseus comments while handing a packet over to Newt's young man.

"Yes, Mr. Scamander," the Obscurial says, not meeting his eyes as he accepts the packet. "Um, thank you."

The hair spills everywhere, a feathery dark mass, so they probably haven't had the chance to yet visit a barber to trim it up – but even so, it's a complete change from the strict, severe bowl cut.

"You look like a different man. It suits you," Theseus says and smiles. "Go on, open it."

Credence hesitates and Theseus can feel Newt all but looming behind him, ready to step in at any moment – probably ready to tackle him too, if it comes to it. Really, getting a family has completely changed his brother. It's almost terrifying.

Credence peels the brown paper around the box and then frowns at the dark mirror inside. "It's… nice?" he offers uncertainly.

"It's magical – a Foe-Glass," Theseus explains. "When you touch it, it will show you your enemies – and the closer they are, the clearer the mirror will show them."

Credence yanks his hand back from the mirror in alarm and Theseus smiles. "They can't see you," he promises and then reaches out to poke at the mirror with a single finger.

For him, Foe-Glasses are full of people – dark wizards he's captured or trying to capture and soldiers of the other side, and all their allies, families, friends… Pain of becoming a war hero – to get there, you made a lot of enemies.

"It's fairly vague, I admit, but it works as well enough as early warning system," Theseus says and lifts his hand.

"You don't have to keep it, Credence," Newt says worriedly, coming closer.

"It'll… it'll show me Grindelwald, won't it?" the young man asks quietly. Then, frowning, he reaches out to touch the mirror. The surface shifts and distant blurry figure appears in it, too distant to make out any features.

"What does that mean?" Credence asks worriedly.

"That he's several hundred miles distant," Theseus says. "The closer he is, the clearer he will be. When you can tell his features, he'll be within twenty miles."

"You don't have to keep it," Newt says again, reaching out to touch Credence's shoulder, running his hand down to his back. "No one will blame you if you don't want to."

Credence frowns at the Foe-Glass. "I want to keep it," he says. "I want to know."

Newt eyes him silently and then nods. "Alright, if you're sure," he says and then gives Theseus a look. "I hope rest of those aren't as unnerving," he says with a narrow look.

"Useful things only, I promise," Theseus grins and then turns to the girls who have been watching the proceedings worriedly. "First for you, young lady," he says and hands over packet to Modesty before holding out the other to Chastity. "And for you, my dear.

For Modesty who, judging by the looks of her braids has quite long hair, he got a set of hair care potions and self-brushing hairbrush. For Chastity he got hand bag - young ladies liked hand bags, or so he'd been told.

"It's got Undetectable Expansion Charms on it," Theseus explains when Chastity frowns at the handbag. "Nothing quite as mental as what Newt's got going on in his suitcase, but you should be able to carry more things than in your average Muggle handbag."

"Should… you be giving these to us?" Chastity asks worriedly. "We're not witches."

"You're Newt's kids!" Theseus says and it will never, ever stop being hilarious – Newt has kids, how _bizarre_. "Just wait until our Mother finds about you two – she has so many things she's been unable to give away because there's no girls in the family. You'll be pampered and no mistake."

"Um," Chastity says and glances at Newt uncertainly. "Oh?"

Newt sighs and then almost jumps back when Theseus holds out a packet for him as well. "Theseus," he says with a frown. "I don't need anything – I have everything in my suitcase"

"I beg to differ – open it," Theseus says and grins at the look Newt gives him.

Newt ties to hold onto his suspicion but being suspicious isn't really in his nature and eventually the curiosity wins and he opens the packet – and the his eyebrows climb up. "You got me a… _clock_?" he says slowly. "Without any hands?"

"It's a _family_ clock, you dunce," Theseus says, rolling his eyes. "Like the one Mother has in the barn, you know."

"Oh," Newt says, and his eyes widen. "Oh, a family clock. Theseus," he then frowns, looking up. "A Foe-Glass, a expanded bag, and this? How much money did you spend?"

"You never let me get you anything," Theseus says defensively. "And you got kids now, Newwie, _kids_! And we none of us expected that to ever happen. So just shut up and let me play the doting uncle here."

"Newwie," Chastity murmurs, smiling a bit. " _Really_?"

Newt shakes his head at her and then Modesty tugs at his sleeve. "What's a family clock?" she asks. "Is it magic?"

"It is magic, yes," Newt says, scratching at his neck. "It's, ah, way to keep track of everyone – everyone gets their own hand, and it will point out where you are at any given time… right, let me show you."

He takes out his wand and uses it to cut a small nick on the tip of his finger. As everyone watches he squeezes out couple of drops of blood onto the clock – and the change they make is instant. The previously white surface is drawn out, separated into sections and marked with words. Home, House, School, Field, Travelling, Lost, Hospital, Prison, Mortal Peril.

"Why doesn't it surprise me that your clock will end up including a slot for _Prison_ ," Theseus mutters, shaking his head

A clock hand grows out from the middle bit of the clock, a sort of winding branch with Newt's image and name drawn on it. It points at House.

"Why is there separate place for House and Home?" Chastity asks with confusion as she and Modesty lean in to look.

"I suppose I think Home is the suitcase," Newt muses with a shrug and looks at the kids. "Do you want to try it?"

"Does it… have to be blood?" Credence asks uneasily, his hands squeezing into fists at his side.

"Yes, unfortunately," Newt says and rests a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. "You don't have to."

"I want to try it," Modesty says and holds out her hand, fingers outstretched. "Let me do it."

Newt nicks her finger gently with his wand and then together they hold her hand over the clock until couple of drops fall. Her hand is different from his – less wood and more metal. It too points to the House, rather than Home – and so does Chastity's. They look at Credence.

The young man bites his lip and for a moment it doesn't look like he will do it. Eventually though he holds out his hand, shaking ever so slightly and it becomes obvious why he hesitates.

Abused, Newt had said. Apparently that wasn't even half of it.

"Close your eyes," Newt says gently and Credence quickly squeezes his eyes tightly shut. The bloodletting is done and nick healed inside few seconds. "It's alright," Newt says and closes the young man's scarred hand between both of his, gently massaging his fingers. "It's done."

"It… didn't hurt," Credence murmurs and watches his clock hand grow out the middle, joining the other three pointing at the House.

Newt smiles, squeezing his hand and winding their fingers together. "Where shall we hang it then?" he asks and flicks his wand, sending the clock floating. "Above the front door maybe?"

"Or in the kitchen – or the dining room?" Chastity says. "Somewhere where we see it."

Theseus trails after his brother and his family as they go about checking for the best place to put the clock. The change in his brother is really remarkable, how at ease he is – how close he is to these kids. He's never been so familiar with his own family, doesn't even let their Mother hug him without squirming. Yet here he is, downright domestic – and walking hand in hand with a _man_.

It might explain some things about his brother. Or maybe it is just the same old for Newt. He's always been terribly attracted to dangerous creatures and it doesn't get much more dangerous than an Obscurial.

Theseus smothers a fond sigh and shakes his head. If Newt can really manage to stay in one place for a year… it's going to be an interesting one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it, that's the story. I don't really like it, but it is finished. Thank you all for reading and replying! :)


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